Affinity
by Kindle-the-Stars
Summary: Affinity - inherent likeness or agreement / a natural liking for a person. Follow canon-compliant HG/SS in all 7 books as their unexpected friendship grows. Starts pre-book 1, SS is sent to tell HG her Hogwarts letter is real. Originally Hogwarts Letter
1. Hogwarts Letter

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL  
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_  
_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_  
_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._  
_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_  
_Deputy Headmistress_

"Mum?" Hermione called softly from the front door. The letter, written in beautiful calligraphy on a strange, thick kind of paper, was clutched in her little hand.

"Yes darling?" her mother's voice came from the kitchen, followed by the sound of her dad cooking breakfast.

Hermione bent down to pick up the rest of the post, having been so excited to find her own name among the addresses that she had dropped the other letters. Slowly, her eyes not leaving the strange crest on the letter, she made her way to her parents.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" her father said, noticing his daughters preoccupation.

Wordlessly, Hermione handed the letter to her mother, who put down the teacup she was sipping from. Her father leaned interestedly over her shoulder to read the letter; both of them scowled.

"Is it real?" she asked her parents when they didn't speak. "Does it mean I'm a witch? And there is a real school I can go to?"

Her parents looked at each other sort of sadly, and her mother moved over to sit next to Hermione and put her arm around her shoulders.

"Oh Hermione," she said softly, consolingly. "No, I don't think it's real, I think it might be a joke that someone is playing on you."

Hermione fidgeted slightly, knowing what her mother said made sense but still not wanting to believe it. "I wouldn't have thought Beth and her minions would have been able to think up something like that," she muttered, naming the girl in her school who had picked on her for years.

Beth was the popular girl, the one with beautiful, soft gold hair and could control the entire playground even at the age of eleven. She had a little crowd of followers who went along with everything she said, even if what she said was stupid or wrong. Hermione tended to spend playtimes in the classroom, or the tiny little library of her school, even though she had read everything it had to offer, to avoid these other girls. Yet they would often catch up with her as she walked home from school, taunting her because of her teeth or her hair – they even called her 'Stranger Granger' because of the funny things that sometimes happened around her.

But perhaps mum was right, and Beth was behind this letter – she already thought Hermione was odd, so maybe this was a nasty way of saying she didn't belong, that she should be in a school for freaks instead.

"Hermione, are you okay?" her father asked, looking at disappointed face worriedly.

"I'm fine, I just thought a school of magic sounded really interesting." She tried to smile bravely. "I'm going to go get my book," she said, slipping off the kitchen chair.

She hurried to the lounge, where she had left the book on Egyptian Pharaohs that she had been reading the night before. As she made her way back to the kitchen, she heard her parents talking in muted voices. She paused to listen.

"I can't believe how detailed this is," her mother said, still rifling through the envelope. "There is an entire booklist – and look at this, a wand, a cauldron, dragon hide gloves …"

"It's such a cruel joke," her father said angrily – the angriest she had ever heard him. "I don't understand why these girls would do something like this to our little girl, let alone put that much effort into a stupid letter."

"It's obviously jealousy, she is so much cleverer than the rest of them put together," her mother said matter-of-factly.

Her father sighed. "You know, for a second while I was reading that letter I wanted it to be true."

"I think Hermione did too, you saw how her face fell when I said it was probably a joke." There was a slight silence, and then her mother folded the letter and put it in the pocket of her white dentist-uniform. "Let's not say anything more about it to her. If this Bethany girl keeps up with the nasty pranks we should talk to the school again."

Hermione saw her father nod, and decided it was time to come back into the kitchen. She clambered up onto one of the chairs and opened the big reference book on her lap to read while she ate, trying to pretend there was nothing wrong.

For the next few days Hermione found herself daydreaming about a school of magic despite herself – she wondered what the classes would have been like, whether they would learn to turn things into something else, or make objects fly. It certainly sounded a lot more interesting than Literacy or Mathematics, which she would have to do again when school started in September.

It was the middle of the summer holidays, nearing the end of July. Hermione loved the summer, since she was able to get away from Beth and her cronies for a few weeks and enjoy the freedom to read whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted.

Her parents had to work at the dentistry most days, so she would go to her grandparents house – her grandparents loved books just as much as she did, so her grandma would take her to the library in town everyday and they would sit in the little café with their books, quite content to while away the long, lazy days of summer this way.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, idly sucking a sherbet lemon as he waited for Severus to arrive; he had a favor to ask of the young professor and he knew that getting him to agree would be difficult.

There was a brisk knock on his office door at exactly eleven o'clock, and he called for him to enter.

"Right on time, Severus, as ever," he said jovially to the dark man who prowled into his office and folded himself into one of the chairs without being asked to be seated. "Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"

Snape pulled a disgusted face at the mention of the nasty, sticky sweets the headmaster favored. "You always ask me that Albus and my answer remains the same – certainly not."

"It's simply good manners to offer, my boy, even if I know you will refuse," he chuckled.

"Let's just get to the point, shall we?" the Potions Master said in a long suffering voice. "I have a batch of skel-grow brewing for Poppy, so I can't stay long."

"Very well," Albus said, uncovering a sheet of parchment from his desk. "This is regarding the new intake of first-years, as always there are one or two pupils that have not responded to our offer."

Snape narrowed his obsidian eyes at the Headmaster, knowing where this was going – it often fell to members of staff to visit potential first-years, explain that the letter wasn't a hoax and often even assist the student in buying their school supplies, particularly the muggle-borns who were unaware of the existence of magic.

"I fail to see what this has to do with me, Albus," he said, examining his long fingers, stained from his work in the lab. "Normally Minerva visits the families if there is a problem."

"Alas, Minerva is currently with her clan, it is my understanding that one of her nieces had recently had a baby," Dumbledore said, sounding like he was enjoying himself immensely.

"Filius?"

"Still in the south of France, with his wife."

"Pomona?"

"Harvesting mandrake seedlings in Finland, she intends to add them to the second year curriculum."

"Merlin Albus, is there really no one else?" Snape asked, realising that he was the only Head of House left in the school.

"I'm afraid not, my boy." Albus smiled benignly in the face of Snape's scowl.

"Have you considered that sending me may well convince the students _not _to come?"

"I'm sure you will perform admirably Severus, I have complete faith in you."

Severus snarled under his breath, seeing no way out and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine, how many infernal first-years shall I have to visit?"

"Only two this year," Albus said, consulting his piece of parchment. "One is a muggle-born girl living in Hampshire, a Miss Hermione Granger and the other is someone whose circumstances you are already acquainted with -"

"No," Snape interrupted, his head jerking up to glare at the Headmaster. "No, I will not visit Harry Potter."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes were uncharacteristically grave. "I believe his family is preventing him from coming, Severus."

"I don't care," he growled.

"Someone has to explain to him -"

"Then send someone else, or go yourself!" he snapped, losing his temper. "I will not go collect the Potter brat and if you did force me I doubt I could refrain from cursing Petunia Evans either."

Dumbledore sighed, "Perhaps you are right, I shall send someone else – perhaps Hagrid will want to go …" he mused.

"Even Hagrid would be better than me, Albus." He stood up to leave, still glaring at the old man. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a potion to tend to."

He had almost reached the door when Albus cleared his throat pointedly. "You still have to visit Miss Granger, Severus," he said, holding out a piece of parchment with her records written neatly out.

He silently turned, stalked back to the desk and snatched the parchment bad-temperedly from the Headmasters hand – he had hoped the old man had forgotten about the muggle-born girl.

* * *

Hermione sat under a tree in her front garden, her head bent over a thick tome on the Second World War she had got out of the library that afternoon with her grandma when she heard a familiar voice.

"Is this how you spend your summer, Hermy?" Beth called from across the street. Hermione tensed, but didn't look up from her book; she hadn't heard Beth and her little gang approaching, no doubt on their way back from the park or somewhere.

"Hey," Beth said, angry that she hadn't got a response. The group crossed the street to stand on the pavement outside Hermione's house. "I know bookworms don't have any friends, but it's polite to reply to someone if they talk to you."

"Leave me alone, Beth," Hermione muttered without looking up. The words in front of her were blurred slightly – she _hated_ it when they said she had no friends, recognizing the truth in their insult.

"_Leave me alone!_" one of the girls imitated. "Poor Hermy with no friends." Despite the lack of eloquence in their insults, Hermione still felt their sting.

"Don't call me Hermy," she said, her buck-teeth gritted in annoyance.

"What are you reading, _Hermy_?" Beth asked, looking for more ammunition to taunt her with.

"None of your business," she said, looking back down at the pages of her book – which was suddenly snatched from her lap.

"Looks _dull_," Beth said with relish, mauling the pages as she flicked though. "If your brain gets any bigger I think your head will explode."

"At least I have a brain," Hermione retorted, standing up, her eyes on the book in Beth's pudgy hands.

Beth's eyes flashed angrily, and she ripped a page out of the book in response to her taunt.

"Don't do that!" Hermione shouted, horrified that she would tear up a library book. She leapt forward to pull the book out of her hands, but was blocked by two of the other girls.

"I think you should apologise to me, Hermy," she said vindictively, tearing out several more pages.

"Give it back!" Hermione cried, struggling against the other girls.

"Say sorry!" Beth ordered, now dropping the pages she had already torn into the dirt.

"No, give it _back!_" Hermione yelled – and felt something shift inside her. The remains of the book flew out of Beth's hands and into her own, surprising her just as much as the other girls.

"How did you do that?" Beth demanded, backing away from her.

Hermione didn't reply, she merely held the book close to her chest, wondering the same thing herself.

"You made that happen, didn't you? You're a freak Hermy – Stranger Granger!" she spat. The other girls took up the taunt as well, and one of them pushed Hermione hard so that she fell to her knees among the torn pages of her book.

Someone cleared their throat pointedly, making the girls fall instantly silent.

Hermione looked up - and saw the most frightening person she had ever seen.

Beth and her gang took one look at the tall, dark haired man, dressed entirely in black and scowling murderously at the group of girls, before they quickly hurried away, casting fearful looks over their shoulders.

The man was wearing strange, billowy clothing, looking almost like a vicar. He had very pale skin, a hooked nose and a nasty sneer playing around the corners of his mouth as he watched the girls run away.

Hermione got to her feet, eyeing the stranger warily with her book and the torn pages clutched protectively to her chest. She was very aware that this was the sort of man that her parents would warn her not to talk to, or take sweets from.

He looked down at her, making her freeze as his eyes met hers – his eyes were black as coal and gave her the strangest feeling, almost like he could see right inside her mind.

"Miss Granger, I presume?" he asked, his voice slow, deep and resonant.

Hermione nodded, unable to speak.

"My name is Professor Snape and I work at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he said.

"The magic school?" Hermione squeaked, remembering the letter she had received several days ago. Her voice sounded very quiet and high-pitched compared to the Professor.

"Indeed," he said, looking at her with intense concentration. "I have come to speak to you and your parents. Perhaps we could go inside the house," he suggested, gesturing with one very pale hand, the voluminous sleeve of his clothing reminding her of wings.

She nodded timidly and led the way up the garden path. Pushing open the door, she called for her parents, who were in the kitchen washing up the plates from dinner, while Professor Snape hovered in the doorway behind her.

Her father appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping his hands on a tea-towel. Seeing the dark, imposing man at his front door, standing right behind his little girl, he hurried forward and pulled Hermione safely behind him.

"Who the hell are you?"

* * *

Severus Snape sighed inwardly as Mr Granger pulled his daughter out of the way – he _knew _this would happen, but as always Dumbledore had refused to listen. He simply didn't have the sort of demeanour that people warmed too, and now no doubt Miss Granger's parents would refuse to send her to a school where a man like him was teaching.

"I am Professor Snape," he repeated, extending his hand for the muggle to shake.

"A Professor?" Mr Granger questioned, looking a little surprised. By now a woman had joined him from the kitchen, her hands resting on her daughters shoulders and eyeing him with obvious curiosity.

"He said he's from the magic school," Hermione said from behind her father – both of her parents blinked in surprise.

"Miss Granger is correct, I have come from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and we wish to offer her a place."

"We thought that letter was a joke, a cruel prank from some girls at Hermione's school," Mrs Granger said, her face perfectly balanced between interest and suspicion.

"I can prove that is not the case," Snape said smoothly, still standing in the open doorway. "Might I come in, to discuss this matter further?"

The Grangers glanced at each other, and then nodded. They stepped aside for him to enter the house and guiding him into a living room. They offered him a chair, which he gladly took while they sat on the sofa facing him. Hermione was knelt on the floor, spreading the pages of her ruined book on the small coffee table with a mournful expression.

"So you're saying that magic actually exists and you are from a school that teaches it?" Mr Granger asked, his voice coloured by skepticism.

Snape smirked, rather appreciating the muggles forthright, straight to the point approach to the situation.

"Yes, that is exactly what I am saying," he said. To help prove himself, he drew his wand and pointed it at the remains of Hermione's book.

"_Reparo,_" he muttered, and watched as the torn pages reattached themselves to the broken binding, rather enjoying the Grangers stunned expressions at the magic he had performed.

Hermione picked up the book and ran a hand along the repaired binding almost reverently, looking both shocked and pleased at the repaired book – the girl was obviously a bibliophile.

"How did you – wait, silly question," Mrs Granger said, recovering first. "How have we never heard of magic existing before?"

He arched an eyebrow at them. "You have heard of magic existing before, however you have chosen not to believe it."

Flicking his wand again, he conjured four cups of tea – again amusing himself with their shocked expressions. Taking one of the cups, he settled back in the chair to explain. "The Wizarding community is one that has existed in secret harmony to the muggle community for thousands of years, muggles being people without magic. We form a complete society with our own history, laws, social etiquette, currency, schools, shops, newspapers and even our own Ministry."

"Then how am I a witch?" Hermione asked, her head tilted to one side.

"Excuse me?"

"If my parents are … muggles, did you say?" Snape nodded, and she continued. "If my parents are muggles and don't have magic, why am I a witch?"

"Interesting question, and one that I cannot answer fully. In most cases a witch or wizard is born from a magical family, however you are part of a rare phenomena called 'muggle-borns', meaning that magic has developed inside you despite your heritage."

"So is it like genetics? Is magic a mutation of the genes?" Hermione asked, looking fascinated.

"Like I said, Miss Granger, I cannot answer you fully," Snape said, rather reluctantly impressed by her questions. "We do not know how or why muggle-borns possess magic."

"Is magic the reason why odd things sometimes happen around me?" Hermione asked, a little uncomfortably – Snape guessed that, from the spectacle he had witnessed outside, she had endured plenty of bullying due to her talents.

"By odd things, I assume you mean events such as making the book fly outside?" he asked, knowing the answer.

She nodded. "There were other things too," she said, looking relieved that this was all finally being explained to her. "Lights can turn on and off, objects move and once I made a teachers hair turn green when he was being mean to me."

"All signs of burgeoning magic," he said. "The magic you have been performing is the wandless, instinctive magic as a child. When you come to Hogwarts you will have a more disciplined and through approach, being able to do magic consciously and with intent as opposed to it being uncontrolled."

"What exactly do you teach at Hogwarts, Professor Snape?" Mr Granger asked, seeming to have recovered from his demonstration of magic earlier.

"Me personally, or the curriculum in general?" Snape asked, sipping from his tea.

"You personally," Mr Granger clarified.

"I teach Potions," he said simply.

"Potions?" Hermione repeated, her eyes shining eagerly. "So magic is not just waving a wand and saying a word?"

"Merlin, no," Snape said, his eyes shifting to the excited child. "There are many different branches of magic, and not all of them involving a wand. While foolish wand-waving can be found in subjects such as Charms or Transfiguration, you shall also learn other forms of magic, such as Herbology, that being the study of magical plants, as well as History of Magic, Potions and Astronomy."

"So what else can -?"

"Miss Granger, perhaps if you allow me to speak uninterrupted you will have your questions answered anyway," he said, a tiny bit of his normal snarky demeanor slipping though his forced politeness.

"Sorry sir," she said, her excitement not having been much dampened in her chastising.

He went on to explain the core-curriculum subjects at Hogwarts and what each of them entailed, before detailing the examination process in the Wizarding world and which extra subjects were available to take at OWL year.

He could see the questions forming in Hermione's eyes, but she held herself back, drinking in every word he was saying. Her eyes went round as galleons as he described the Castle itself, and her mouth formed a little o when he described the Great Hall and the Library.

When he had finished speaking her parents questioned him about the facilities at Hogwarts – they were mildly distressed to find out that Hogwarts was a boarding school, but eagerly asked him what the food was like, the grounds, the dormitories, things like that.

By the time he had finished answering their questions about the school dusk was falling and the four teacups stood empty on the coffee table. Mrs Granger mentioned the booklist that had arrived with the letter, asking how they could purchase the books.

"Obviously they cannot be bought in the muggle world, so Miss Granger will have to visit Diagon Alley, the Wizarding shops" he told them, internally groaning at what he knew would be coming next.

"And how will we get there?" Mr Granger asked.

"Unfortunately it can only be accessed by those with Magic, so if you are amenable I shall accompany Miss Granger to buy her books and school supplies," he said, cursing inwardly – Dumbledore would have his head if he didn't accompany the girl, since that too was part of the duty in visiting the muggle families. No doubt Miss Granger would be questioning him about magic the entire time – even though her questions were surprisingly intelligent.

Mr Granger nodded at his words, and Snape was mildly surprised not to even sense a twinge of reluctance in the muggle mans mind – it appeared that he had won over this muggle family, a strange thought considering the frosty greeting he had received from them earlier.

"When might you be available to take her?" Mrs Granger asked politely.

"Tomorrow, I shall arrive at eleven o'clock sharp," he said, rising to take his leave. "Be sure to give Miss Granger money, since I shall also open a Gringotts account with her in order to convert it to the Wizarding currency." He inclined his head to the Grangers. "I shall let myself out, good evening to you."

Hermione looked like she was still positively bursting with questions, since most of the conversation had been dictated by the adults. She followed him to the door. "Professor Snape, I wanted to ask -"

"Miss Granger, you will have all of tomorrow to ply me with as many questions as you like, are you sure it cannot wait?"

She smiled slightly. "I was just wondering how we will get to Diagon Alley," she said – again, an interesting question, since they would have to travel by magical means and she was ignorant of all of them.

He smirked, imagining the poor girls reaction to floo-powder or apparition. "Like I said, Miss Granger, you shall have to wait and see tomorrow."

"Good night then, Professor," she said, looking for all the world like she wanted tomorrow to come as quickly as possible.

Snape nodded briskly to her and stalked down the garden path – he could sense the child eyes still on him and, knowing he was in full sight of her, spun on the spot to disapparate.

That was bound to have impressed her.

* * *

**Diagon Alley coming soon ...**

**I'm very very tempted to continue this into a longer, multi-chaptered fic – going through their friendship developing during Hermione's years at Hogwarts while still keeping it as cannon as possible. For instance, their interaction would cover Hermione turning herself into a cat in 2****nd**** year, her timeturner in 3****rd**** … things like that – so what are your thoughts?**

**REVIEW – just press that little button there, even if you just want to tell me what your favourite subject at Hogwarts would be …? **


	2. Diagon Alley

**Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews, you guys really made my day!**

**And, since I am now continuing this through her Hogwarts years and beyond, I'm going to have to change the title to something more fitting – any suggestions?**

**Anyway, Enjoy!**

* * *

Hermione was practically bouncing on the window ledge in impatience, craning her neck to look down the street to see if Professor Snape was coming. She had been in a state of nervous excitement all morning, eager to visit the Wizarding shops and to ask the Professor her questions – a thousand more on top of the ones she had not been allowed to ask him the previous evening had occurred to her while she lay awake in bed and were now flitting around her head.

She had been chattering all though breakfast, reading and then rereading the booklist of things she had to buy – her parents had great fun speculating with her about what each of the books might be about, and the kind of things that someone might be able to do with magic. When she had told them about the Professor suddenly vanishing last night with a sudden, loud _pop _her mother had said that if she had magic she would teleport them all to Australia for a family holiday.

Since the Professor wasn't arriving until eleven o'clock her father had gone into work while her mother waited at home with her, planning on joining her father once she had left. Her mother had given her more money than she had ever seen in her life, telling her to get some extra books for background reading as well as her textbooks, along with her spare mobile phone in case she got separated from the Professor. She was also under strict instructions to remember every detail possible to relay to her family once they got back from shopping.

It was five to eleven and Hermione was ready with her cardigan buttoned, her shoes tied and the little back-pack her grandparents had given her for her last birthday on her back, filled with her money, the booklist and the phone. Leaning against the window, eager not to miss the moment the Professor would appear out of thin air, her breath created a misty fug that she hastily wiped away.

Her mother laughed at her impatience, saying that Professor Snape didn't strike her as the kind of man who would be late and that he would no doubt be here in a few minutes.

The clock struck eleven – and there he was. He didn't appear magically, like he had disappeared the night before; instead he rounded the corner at a brisk pace, his black robes billowing around his legs and headed up the drive.

Hermione flew to the door and pulled it open before he had a chance to knock. "Hello," she said, grinning widely, not realising she was showing her bucked-teeth.

"Good morning," the Professor intoned simply, looking down at her from his impressive height.

"Professor Snape, good to see you again," her mother said, following Hermione out of the living room. Smiling, she extended a hand for him to shake. "It's so good of you to take Hermione for us, we really are grateful."

"Simply part of my job, Mrs Granger," he said brusquely, before returning his black eyes to Hermione. "Shall we, Miss Granger?" he said, gesturing to the street.

Her mother reached down and gave her a quick hug. "Tell me _everything_ when you get back, darling," she said, smiling widely.

"Bye mum," Hermione grinned, and then tripped after the Professor who was halfway down the drive. "So how are we travelling to the shops? Do you have a car?" she asked, catching up with him.

Professor Snape looked to the heavens. "And so the questions have begun," she heard him mutter.

"I _do_ have quite a lot of questions," she said apologetically. "It's just this is all new to me – did you grow up in the Wizarding world, or are you muggle-born too?"

The Professor gave her a sharp look. "To answer your first question, Miss Granger, we will be travelling by port-key – which, before you ask, since I can tell you are about to, is a magical means of transportation that is set up by the Ministry. We will be catching our port-key from a small copse of trees not far from here so muggles don't see us."

"How does it work?"

"By magic, Miss Granger," he said with more than a hint of sarcasm.

Feeling slightly chastened she bit her tongue for a moment, but then another question occurred to her. "How did you vanish last night, was that a port-key too?"

He gave a long suffering sigh. "It looks like I am going to have to resign myself to answering every one of your infernal questions on this little venture," he said bitingly, but she thought that he wasn't all that angry with her really. "Last night I disapparated, which essentially means to disappear and to reappear almost instantaneously elsewhere. While I could apparate us straight to Diagon Alley, the sensation is very uncomfortable and not something you would enjoy."

"When can I learn to apparate?" she asked eagerly, excited by the thought of being able to travel anywhere instantly.

"Not until your sixth year at Hogwarts," he told her.

"And I can't learn before then?"

"No," he said, obviously bemused by her eagerness. "Merlin, you're ambitious it seems - you may well be in my House and then I'll be stuck with you under my feet for the next seven years."

"You're House?"

"Yes, Hogwarts students are divided into Houses when they first arrive and I am a Head of House."

"What ..." she started to ask another question, and then trailed off as she saw Beth sitting in the park with a few other girls. She caught Hermione's eye and, seeing that she was with the man that had frightened her and her friends away yesterday, the girls put their heads together, clearly whispering about her.

Obviously surprised by her sudden silence, the Professor followed her gaze and scowled when he saw the group of girls. "That girl needs a good _Langlock_ used on her, if you ask me."

"What's _Langlock_?" she asked, confused.

"It's a curse that sticks the victims tongue to the roof of their mouth, rendering them unable to speak temporarily," he explained indifferently, now leading Hermione towards a small thicket of trees a little way beyond the park.

"I can do that to people?" she said, shocked.

The Professor made a face. "Yes, you will have that ability, but it is highly discouraged to actually use it on people – particularly muggles that cannot defend themselves against magic. Though I can see any Wizard making an exception for that little brat."

"She is a nasty piece of work," Hermione agreed sadly as they entered the trees.

The Professor pulled a small pocket watch from his voluminous robes and looked at it. "We still have a few minutes until the portkey will activate," he said, pocketing the watch again. "So tell me, what exactly have these girls done to you in the past?"

"Just petty stuff really," she said, shrugging slightly as they stood among the trees, trying to appear blasé about the whole thing. "They steal my books or my work. Sometimes they make fun of my hair, or my teeth, or my name."

"I see," he said simply, his eyes flinty. There was silence between them for a moment; Hermione still had plenty of questions, but wasn't quite in the mood to ask them at that point, too busy brooding over her bullies – then a new thought hit her, she would meet new people when she went to Hogwarts, then she would actually have friends!

The Professor cleared his throat, interrupting her musings. "I feel I should warn you, Miss Granger, about how port-keys operate," he said, and pointed to an empty cola-can at his feet. "When the key turns blue it is active for transportation and you press a finger to it, which enables you to travel. The sensation is a strange one, almost like being pulled by something, however this is by far the more pleasant option than travelling by apparition or floo-powder."

"What's floo-powder, sir?"

The Professor smirked, and explained the bizarre, magical method of travelling through any fireplace in the Wizarding world using this special powder, then without her even prompting him, went on to tell her about the slower means of transportation available. He spoke of flying carpets (which were illegal now in England) and broomsticks for a few minutes until they were distracted by the crumpled cola-can at his feet glowing a soft blue.

He crouched down, beckoning her to follow. "Remember, just a finger will do. Are you ready, Miss Granger?" he said.

She nodded, her hand hovering over the port-key with his.

"On three then," he said softly. "One ... two ..._three_."

Feeling a strange hooking sensation around the small of her back, Hermione was lost in a riot of colour.

* * *

The port-key deposited them in a small alley near the Leaky Cauldron. Snape easily kept his feet, but Hermione staggered and fell over.

"Ow, my head," she groaned from the ground, obviously disoriented.

Snape leant down and pulled her up by the sleeve of her cardigan, propping her against the alley wall so she could regain her balance. "Just stand still for a moment, the feeling will pass," he advised.

The child tilted her head back against the bricks, her eyes closed. He decided to give her a minute, since she was probably a little overwhelmed by her first experience of magical transportation. So far the day had gone almost exactly as he had expected – Albus had twinkled at him when he said he was going to Diagon Alley with the girl, telling him to do his best not to frighten her and asking if he could pick up some Acid Pops for him while he was there; the Ministry had caused a predictable fuss when he had tried to orchestrate a port-key straight from the girls house and had eventually agreed to set one up for them in a more isolated area instead; and the girl had not stopped asking questions.

Well, _almost _not stopped; so far the only thing that had surprised him today was her reaction to seeing her bullies. She had gone frightfully silent on him after seeing them and he decided that, annoying as her questions were, he much preferred to simply answer them directly than deal with a quite, sad child. He had even prompted her to start questioning him again, mentioning floo-powder and knowing she wouldn't be able to resist asking what it was.

She was obviously a self-conscious child, and a small part of him couldn't help but sympathise – he knew exactly what it was like to be teased for your hair, your teeth and your name, having experienced the exact same thing.

Memories that he had repressed for years threatened to resurface, of being hexed as he walked through the school, of having his books stolen and his own invented spells used against him. Even now, the memory of being taunted and called _Snivellus _still stung.

But Hermione wasn't a bad name to have - unusual yes, but it was from Shakespeare, if he wasn't mistaken. The name suited her, he thought. In fact, with all of her curious inquisitiveness about the magical world and her eagerness to learn, she reminded him a little of – no, best not think about that.

"Where are we?" she asked from behind him interrupting his maudlin thoughts. She seemed to have recovered and was looking around the little alleyway with a mixture of interest and apprehension. "This isn't Diagon Alley, right?"

"Don't be ridiculous girl, of course it isn't," he said, leading her out onto the street. "We are in muggle-London, however the port-key had to deposit us somewhere out of sight."

She nodded and tripped along after him. "I've got to say, I'm not sure I want to learn how to apparate now – a port-key was bad enough."

Snape smirked slightly – was that a hint of sarcasm from the girl? He had initially thought that she would be a Ravenclaw with all her questioning, but there were definitely Slytherin hints in her.

He strode quickly though the streets of muggle-London, Hermione practically jogging along side him, until they reached the Leaky Cauldron. "After you, Miss Granger," he said, gesturing for her to enter the tiny, grubby pub first.

She looked around interestedly, her amber eyes taking in the dim seating area, the cobwebs in the corners and the bald, toothless barman behind the counter. "Why couldn't the muggles see it?" she asked, turning back to him.

So she had noticed the glamour around the pub, rather impressive. "Because they are muggles," he said simply, by way of explanation.

"Usual, Severus?" Tom, the barman asked. Snape shook his head and, wrapping a hand around the top of Hermione's arm, practically marched her out of the back entrance of the pub – there were several hags sitting at one table, and what looked suspiciously like an ogre lurking in one corner – he didn't want to introduce her to such creatures on her first day in the magical world.

Taking out his wand, he tapped the bricks in the little courtyard, watching the look of amazement spread over Hermione's face as the bricks folded back on themselves, revealing the multitude of colours that made up the shopping-hub of the Wizarding world.

* * *

Hermione gasped, her eyes drifting slowly from one wonder to another. Not even in her most extravagant daydreams about what Diagon Alley could be like had prepared her for the reality. The narrow Alley twisted away in both directions, with Witches and Wizards flocking on the cobbled streets.

The Professor seemed immune to its bustling beauty, simply taking her arm again and leading her though the crowd. She let him steer her, her eyes on the shops – cauldrons, robes, broomsticks, an apothecary, a sweetshop and hundreds more that seemed to blur together.

She almost tripped up some marble stairs, not playing proper attention to where her feet were taking her, and realised that the Professor had lead her to a beautiful, snowy white building that rose over the Alley.

"Is that Gringotts, the bank?" she asked, and he nodded.

She almost froze when she saw the strange, little creature standing beside the door, and would have stopped if it wasn't for Professor Snape still pulling her along. "Professor," she whispered. "What was -?"

"A Goblin," he said, just as softly as they went through a second set of doors. "They run the bank, I probably should have warned you. Just try not to stare too much."

He approached the counter, where a wrinkled Goblin with a long, pointed nose was sitting on an elevated stool. "Miss Hermione Granger wishes to open an account and exchange muggle money," he said, sounding more imposing than she had heard him speak before.

Wordlessly, the Goblin slid a piece of parchment across the counter. Dipping a long-fingered hand into his robes, the Professor pulled out a smaller, folded scrap of parchment and consulted it before inking up a quill and beginning to fill in the form with narrow, spidery writing. Craning her neck to see over the counter, Hermione saw the Hogwarts crest on the smaller piece of parchment, followed by her name, address and contact details, which he was copying out onto the form.

She waited in silence while he wrote quickly, looking instead around the bank. Goblins were leading Witches and Wizards either in or out of several doors in the Hall – she noticed that those leaving looked particularly relieved to do so.

"Miss Granger, you need to sign here," Professor Snape said, offering her the quill. She felt very small and young, standing on tip-toes to see the form she was signing and holding a quill for the first time. Carefully, she wrote her name, focusing on not smudging the ink.

"A parent or guardian must sign also," the Goblin said with a nasty smile, holding the quill out to the Professor again. "Are you her guardian?"

He sighed, "I suppose so," he said reluctantly, inking up the quill once more so scrawl his name next to Hermione's.

The Goblin handed her a tiny gold key with a vault number engraved on the side. "Don't lose that," Professor Snape warned. Hermione pulled her multicoloured purse out of her little back-pack and carefully zipped the key into one of the pockets.

"You bought money to change, I presume?" He said, looking distastefully at the rainbow pattern on her purse.

She handed him the small roll of notes her parents had given her, which he passed to the Goblin, who started counting out little piles of gold, silver and bronze coins.

"The gold ones are galleons, the silver are sickles and the bronze are knuts – there are twenty-nine knuts to a sickle and seventeen sickles to a galleon," Professor Snape told her, watching the Goblin count out the money.

"How many galleons is it to a pound?" Hermione asked.

A small crinkle appeared in The Professor's alabaster brow as he obviously thought for a moment. "I believe that one galleon is approximately five muggle pounds."

Hermione did some quick maths in her head – that meant knuts were practically pennies and sickles were around thirty pence.

Once the Goblin had finished counting out her money, Professor Snape swept it all into her multicoloured purse and lead her out of the bank, where a Goblin bowed them out of the doors.

"It's a good thing you didn't have any money in the vaults," he said as he wound his way through the crowd, Hermione jogging in his wake. "They are located miles under London and can only be reached by infernal carts that travel far too fast for my tastes."

The first shop they came to was a small stationary shop where she bought quills, parchment and various inks. The Professor bought an ominously large bottle of blood-red ink for himself, and when she asked he told her it was for correcting students essays. Next, there was a small equipment shop, in which she bought a telescope for her Astronomy lessons. The shop also sold the Potions equipment that her list said she needed, but Professor Snape pulled a face and said she should get the higher quality equipment available in the apothecaries if she wanted to do well in his lessons.

Hermione's questions were now coming out in full force while they shopped – every single purchase, every window display they passed invoked a new round of questions, ranging from spells to magical creatures to famous Witches and Wizards. The Professor would answer her with as few words as possible, it seemed, but she still found everything he said fascinating.

When they walked into a clothes shop and Hermione started asking about how the charm to make the fabric in the window worked, the Professor raised his hands in a surrendering gesture.

"Merlin's beard, Miss Granger, why don't you ask Madame Malkin while you get your robes fitted?" he said, looking very uncomfortable and odd in his black robes amongst all the colourful fabrics. "You can do that yourself and frankly I could be doing something useful instead of waiting outside the changing rooms for you."

"Okay, where shall I meet you?" Hermione asked, seeing how much the Professor obviously despised being among all these clothes.

He pointed out of the window, to a little building almost opposite the clothes shop. "I'll be in that apothecary, come and find me when you're ready – and for Merlin's sake, _don't_ wander off, Miss Granger. Dumbledore would have my head if I lost you."

And with that, he stalked out of the shop, letting the door swing closed behind him.

* * *

Snape pushed open the door to the apothecary and inhaled the familiar smell of potions ingredients with a sigh of relief – that girl was both a fountain of questions and a sponge of knowledge; she actually listened to his short, blunt answers to her questions and applied what he had said to something else. In a way it was rather refreshing to find a student who was obviously so eager to learn, though that may well wear off once the novelty of magic was gone for her.

While her questions were still fairly insightful for someone her age, he felt he needed a break from the constantly-talking girl. She would be fine getting her robes fitted without him, and Madame Malkin could probably answer the round of questions that would inevitably follow about clothes in the Wizarding world far better than him. Stepping closer to one of the shelves, he leant forward to examine the quality of some powered dragon claw, remembering that his stock was running low.

About twenty minutes later he was standing at the counter, haggling with the owner over several items – or what passed for haggling for him, anyway; Snape simply told the owner what he thought each item was worth based on the quality and insisted he wouldn't pay a knut over, the owner either had to accept his price or lose one of his best customers.

He was in the middle of pointing out the blemishes on the most recent shipment of bicorn horns when the little bell over the shop door tinkled and Miss Granger walked in, a bag from Madame Malkins in her hand. She smiled, but didn't interrupt them, looking instead at the display of cauldrons on one wall.

By the time Snape and the owner had agreed on a price, Hermione had collected everything she needed for her potions starter kit, along with a good quality cauldron, some scales and vials. She was silent as they paid for their items, no doubt conscious of not interrupting the adults conversations, however by now Snape could recognise the symptoms of her having a burning question.

"Well, what did you want to ask, Miss Granger?" he drawled as they left the shop.

"Why are there so many different materials that cauldrons can be made from?" she burst out eagerly. "Does it affect the potion if it's the wrong kind of metal?"

Another astute question, Snape thought with a slight smirk, slipping into his teacher-mode as he started to lecture her on his favourite subject.

* * *

There was a distinct change in the Professors voice when he talked about potions. It wasn't that he was more animated, just that there was a hint of reverence in his tone. Hermione drunk in his words, but was distracted by the sight of the biggest, most beautiful bookstore she had ever seen.

"Oh _wow,_" she whispered, gazing at all the books on display in the window of Flourish and Blotts.

"Oh no you don't," the Professor growled, grabbing her arm again to make her start walking. "Wand first, then you can look at the books."

Hermione was reluctant to be dragged away from the sight of so many books, but was undeniably interested in getting a wand – from what the Professor had said a wand was the channel of a Wizards magic, and while some more experienced Witches or Wizards could perform magic without a wand it was still a necessity of magical life.

He led her to a small, rather shabby shop with the name _Ollivanders _written in peeling gold letters. He held the door open for her to go in first and she heard the light tinkling of a bell somewhere deep in the shop.

She examined the rows and rows of narrow boxes with keen interest until she noticed Professor Snape turn his head – following his gaze, she saw an old man with rather wispy hair and pale eyes approaching them with silent footsteps.

"Good afternoon," he intoned, those strange eyes sweeping over Hermione.

"Hello," she said very softly. Behind her Snape inclined his head in greeting.

"You must be Hermione Granger," he said, making her mouth fall open a little in surprise. "A muggle-born, if I am not mistaken."

"Yes sir," she said, her voice sounding extremely small.

"And Severus Snape, I am rather surprised to see you in my shop again," Ollivander said, turning to the Professor. "Ebony, twelve and a quarter inches, with a Thestral tail hair - rather rigid, was it not?"

He jerked his head irritably at the rather strange question, his arms folded into his flowing robes.

"I do hope you are not here because it is broken, that was a fine wand," Ollivander continued, a note of warning entering his voice.

"Certainly not," the Professor said taciturnly. "I am simply here to escort Miss Granger in buying her school supplies."

Dropping his interrogation, Ollivander measured Hermione with a strange, magical tape measure that did all the work, while he pulled several boxes down off the shelves. As he did so he explained a little about the different wand cores, prompting a new round of eager questions from Hermione.

Ollivander seemed pleased with what she asked, answering in so much detail that her interest was heightened still, whereas the Professor stood silently by the door, probably grateful for the brief reprieve he got while she was interrogating Ollivander.

Hermione was too busy asking about the different wand-cores that she wasn't paying much attention to the wands he was handing her to wave – therefore it shocked her when one of the wand-tips suddenly exploded into a shower of green and gold sparks.

"Oh!" she cried, almost dropping it. "Did you see that?"

"Excellent Miss Granger, this will do nicely – vine, ten and a quarter inches with a dragon heart-string, a very excellent wand for Transfiguration," he said, plucking the wand from her fingers and placing it carefully back into its box.

She paid for her wand and he presented her with the box. "I'm sure you will go far at Hogwarts, Miss Granger," he said, bowing them out of the shop.

"Thank you, sir," she smiled, tucking the package under her arm.

The moment they were out of the shop she practically skipped in excitement. "That was fascinating!" she exclaimed. "It's wonderful how all the different core combinations work – and the wand choosing the witch, it's almost like there is a bit of sentience in them!"

"Yes, quite," the Professor said, leading her back up the Alley.

"But how did he know my name, Professor?" she asked curiously, tripping along after him.

"Ollivander receives a copy of each year's Hogwarts intake of new students, since it is the most common time young witches and wizards buy wands," he told her, his eyes sweeping the street.

"Can we go to the bookshop now, sir?" she asked enthusiastically – but was interrupted by her stomach rumbling; in her excitement that morning she had hardly touched her breakfast, and it was now well past two o'clock. She pressed her hands quickly over her stomach, hoping the Professor hadn't heard.

"You're hungry," he stated, frowning disapprovingly at her and ruining her hopes.

"Only a little, sir," she said sheepishly. "I was a bit too nervous to eat much this morning."

Professor Snape silently pointed to a small shop that sold different type of Wizarding snacks and sweets. She was greeted by the most heavenly assortment of smells as they entered the shop – it was something like fresh baked bread, along with herbs and sugar.

Gravitating over to the glass counter, she eagerly examined the fresh pastries, a little surprised by the strange fillings inside them. She eventually settled on a pumpkin pasty, and gave the plump little Witch behind the counter three sickles for it. The Professor was examining the sweets on sale, something she didn't expect since she hadn't pegged him as someone with a sweet-tooth - however he had a slightly distasteful expression on his face as he scrutinised the brightly coloured wrappers.

He noticed the questioning look she was giving him and decided to explain. "The Headmaster asked me to buy him some of these," he said, holding up a vivid green bag of lollipops. "Disgusting things, I don't know how he can stand them."

Hermione watched him pay, noticing that he also bought a set of dark, liquorice wands that he slipped into his pocket too. As he gestured for her to leave the shop, she asked, "What is the Headmaster like, sir?"

"He is an absolute lunatic," he said seriously, striding down the street towards the bookshop.

"What?" Hermione asked, a little scandalised that he would say such a thing.

"I believe you heard me, Miss Granger, Albus Dumbledore is undoubtedly mad - however he is a good Headmaster."

Not sure if he was joking or not, Hermione scurried along after him.

He pushed open the door to Flourish and Blotts, and Hermione momentarily forgot all her questions. She squealed and ran past him into the shop, spinning on the spot to try and take in all of it at once – there were thousands and thousands of books of all different sizes; some were barely bigger than her thumbnail, others were as big as concrete slabs. She ran her hand over the leather cover of the closest book, marvelling in the feeling – but the Professor seized the top of her arm and marched her deeper into the shop.

"Reference and text-books are this way, we don't have time to loiter here all day," he said, practically dragging her past the intriguing looking shelves. She noticed sections for invisibility, flight, curses, familiars, biography's of famous Witches and Wizards and more. She felt she could stay here for a hundred years and not be bored.

"You have your booklist?" he asked; she pulled it out of her bag and handed it to him.

He prowled between the shelves, pulling down the books that she needed while she trailed after him – she thought he was going to hand them to her, but with a little flick of his wand the growing stack of books hovered in the air beside her head; she tilted her neck, trying to read more of the titles.

"That's everything," he said, quicker than she would have thought possible. He started walking towards the counter to pay.

"Um, sir?" she said, the book still hovering next to her.

"What, Miss Granger?"

"My parents gave me some extra money, they said I could get some books for light reading," she told him.

The Professor scowled, and then pointed to a far corner of the shop. "Novels are that way, don't take too long."

"Actually sir, I wanted some books that would help me learn a bit more about the magical world itself," she said, trying not to pull a face when he said 'novels'. She didn't mind reading novels, but by far preferred to actually learn something when she read. "I was wondering if you could maybe recommend some to me."

Professor Snape gave her an appraising look, and then walked back towards her to study the shelves. Wordlessly, he pulled out two weighty looking texts and added them to the pile; _Modern Magical History _and_ Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century._

"Anything else?" he asked dryly.

Hermione bit her lip, thinking. "Maybe some background reading for my subjects," she said, making it almost sound like a question.

"How many books did your parents say you could get?" he said, sounding a little surprised.

"As many as I wanted – it's my birthday in a September, so they said that this could be an early present."

He tapped his chin with one narrow, long finger and went back to studying the shelves. After a moment he selected three more books; _Beginners Guide to Potions Theory, Wand-work in Transfiguration and Charms _and_ The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. _

Feeling immensely pleased with the huge pile of books floating alongside her, Hermione and the Professor joined the long queue to pay for her books. While they waited, Hermione asked him about the teachers that taught each subject and what she would learn in the first year.

Her fountain of questions inevitably led her to ask even more about the school itself, her words coming out in such a rush that she barely let the Professor speak before asking another question.

"And there are four Houses, each of them named after the Founders of Hogwarts? How long ago was Hogwarts actually founded? And how do we know what the Founders themselves were like, if the students are sorted on their characteristics? And how _are_ the students sorted? Is it-"

"Miss Granger," Professor Snape snarled, obviously losing his temper with her. "Will you stop that infernal questioning so that I can actually _answer_ you?"

"Sorry sir," she said, feeling chastised.

The Professor was silent for a moment, then he said "Wait here," and stalked back into the shelves, leaving her alone in the queue.

He reappeared a moment later, his robes billowing as he walked, with another book clutched in his hand. He tossed it on top of the pile. "Maybe that will answer your damn questions," he growled.

Hermione looked at the title embossed in gold on the dark leather and smiled – the book was called _Hogwarts: A History._

* * *

Snape was relieved to finally leave the bookshop; he had guessed that the girl was a bibliophile, but hadn't realised just how far her obsession reached. She had practically shrieked when they had entered the bookshop and he had to drag her to the right shelves.

With the books and everything else needed for Hogwarts purchased, he could finally take the incessantly chattering girl back to her home and return to the school. He set a quick pace up Diagon Alley, eager to get to the Leaky Cauldron and into muggle-London as soon as possible. The Ministry of Magic had set another port-key up in the same alley for them, one that he could activate at any time.

He had been forced to confiscate the bag of books from Hermione after leaving Flourish and Blotts, since the moment they had purchased them she had opened one to look inside. Guessing that she would try to walk and read at the same time, he made her carry the bag containing her robes and wand instead, while he took the books and cauldron, steadfastly ignoring her small pout of annoyance – besides, the books would have been rather heavy for such a small girl.

The Leaky Cauldron was bustling with the tea-time crowd, so once again Snape grasped Hermione's arm and steered her straight to the door without stopping to talk to anyone. Hermione was practically skipping alongside him, babbling the whole time about things she had seen in Diagon Alley, with a question thrown in every few sentences that he would answer with as much brevity as possible.

They reached the dingy alley-way without incident and he activated the port-key. Hermione barely seemed to notice the journey, or maybe it was just that she now knew what to expect. She staggered a little when they landed in the copse of trees in her home village, but managed to stay vertical by grabbing the sleeve of his robe. She simply shook her head as if to clear it, then kept chattering away unperturbed when they started walking.

Hermione ran up the driveway to her house, knocking on the door and calling for her parents in excitement, no doubt eager to share the events of the day. Mr Granger opened the door just as Snape stepped up to the porch behind Hermione.

The muggle grinned down at his daughter and swept her into a hug. "There you are, Hermione," he said, just as she started to speak again.

"Dad, you won't _believe _some of the things I saw!" she said excitedly. "There was this _incredible _bookshop, with -"

"You can tell me in a minute, honey," he said gently, straightening up with a smile. He extended his hand to Snape. "Thank you for taking her, Professor. It certainly looks like she enjoyed herself."

He nodded curtly, but nevertheless shook the muggles hand.

"And Dad, we meet Goblins – _real _Goblins!" She said happily. "They run the bank!"

"Goodness," Mr Granger said in mild bemusement.

"And I have a wand, I can make sparks appear -"

"Miss Granger, I would advise you not to shout such things to the street," Snape said sternly, glancing around.

Mrs Granger appeared behind them. "Whatever are you all doing standing in the doorway?" she admonished lightly. "Hello Professor Snape, won't you come inside for a cup of tea?"

"No, thank you. I shall return to Hogwarts," he said stiffly, handing over the bags with her cauldron and school books in.

"Thank you so much for today Professor," Hermione exclaimed with genuine happiness, smiling toothily at him.

"Not at all, Miss Granger. I was simply doing my job." He nodded to her parents. "Good day to you."

"Wait Professor," Mr Granger said from behind him, making him turn around again. "I have a question about Hermione's train ticket; it said platform 9 and ¾ ..."

"Ah, yes," he said, understanding the muggles confusion. "The platform is hidden and inaccessible to muggles. To get onto the platform you simply walk through the wall between platforms nine and ten – however, as muggles you will not be able to get through this gateway, you must say goodbye to Miss Granger in the station itself."

"You ... walk through the wall?" Mrs Granger repeated dubiously.

"I assure you, it is nothing but an illusion," he said smoothly. "It is best to do it at a run, if you are nervous."

Mr and Mrs Granger seemed a little bewildered, but said no more. Snape looked down his hooked nose at Hermione. "Miss Granger, I shall see you in Potions."

Turning on his heel, he strode down their driveway with his robes swirling around his ankles. Behind him, he heard Miss Granger start talking again, no doubt gushing to her parents about her day. Reaching the end of the road, he apparated to the Hogwarts gates.

Silence, he thought, looking around him at the Scottish wilderness. Sweet, blessed silence for the first time all day.

He made the long walk up to the castle and down to the dungeons, preoccupied with his thoughts. He was used to dealing with large classrooms full of students who were terrified of him, but not one single, babbling child who seemed to cling on to his every syllable when she actually let him get a word in edgeways.

He wondered briefly if she would be afraid of him, like the others would be, when she actually came to the school in September – not one of his students would have dared to ask him so many questions, let alone smile at him.

He also wondered what House she would be in.

Unwarding his office with a few flicks of his wand, he stepped inside and shrugged off his outer robe before settling behind his desk. He was rather in need of a strong cup of tea, or maybe a fire-whisky – or maybe two.

He had just poured himself a glass of the stinging, amber liquid when a familiar knock came at his door. He stifled a groan and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Come in, Albus."

Dumbledore stepped into the room with a beneficent smile, which faded ever so slightly when he saw Snape's long, pale fingers curled around the crystal glass. "Honestly Severus," he said with mild disapproval. "It's not even five o'clock. Was Diagon Alley really that bad?"

"You know I dislike shopping, Albus," Snape replied, staring moodily into the glass – he wasn't really in the mood to deal with the Headmaster at the moment.

"And what of Miss Granger?" the old man asked, taking a seat in front of Snape's desk.

"What of her?"

"I was expecting you to tell me you had successfully terrified her into not coming to the school," Dumbledore said jovially, conjuring a cup of tea in a rather quirky purple and gold tea-cup for himself.

Snape snorted. "Hardly. She can't wait to come – I had to stop her from reading her text-books while she walked."

Albus chuckled. "Losing your touch, Severus?"

"As I recall, you asked me _not_ to frighten her when I left – which reminds me ..." He dipped a hand into the pocket of his robes and pulled out the sweets he had bought, tossing the acid-pops to the Headmaster.

"Ah, thank you, my boy," he said, opening the packet with a smile.

Snape twirled one of the liquorice wands he had also bought, the only type of sweets he actually liked, around his fingers before biting the end off. Albus had unwrapped one of the acid-pops and was dipping it in his tea, which smoked and sizzled at the contact.

"The girl seemed to take quite a liking to me." Snape said as the silence stretched between them.

"Did she really?" Dumbledore asked, now licking tea off the lolly.

"Merlin knows why," he muttered irritably. He took another bite of liquorice, his fire-whiskey left untouched on the desk.

Dumbledore surveyed him with his piercing blue eyes. "You know Severus, it won't hurt you to have a student as a friend."

Snape's head jerked up. "Why on earth would I want to be friends with an eleven year old girl, a student?"

The old man looked at him for a moment, his expression very serious. "It is one of the greatest things in the world, Severus, to have a friend," he said sombrely, and then stood up to leave the office.

"Crazy old windbag," Snape grumbled as the door swung shut behind the Headmaster. He picked up the glass of fire-whisky and quickly drained it.

* * *

**La la la, off to Hogwarts next for Hermione's first year! **

**Reviews make my day and inspire me to keep writing, so if you could just press that little button and write something I will give you LOVE ... **

**Also, I was quite put-out that no one answered the question **_**what would your favourite subject at Hogwarts be? **_**Those of you who have read my writing before will know that I often add quirky little questions to the end of chapters! **

**So – same question again, favourite subject? :D**


	3. Philosopher's Stone

**Disclaimer – some parts of this, especially bits of dialogue, are quoted verbatim from either the books or films. I own nothing to do with the franchise – duh.**

**Thank you EVERYONE for all the reviews and for answering my question – several people asked what my favourite subjects would be ... Potions and Ancient Runes!**

**Also, sorry for the wait in updating – I had a huge essay due! **

**I cannot promise when the next chapter will be out, since I am doing NaNoWriMo – anyone else doing it too? Good Luck if you are!**

**Well, enjoy :) **

* * *

Snape scowled and tapped his long fingers against the tabletop. It was the only outward sign of impatience he showed as the Great Hall steadily filled with giggling, shrieking students. The Welcoming Feast was the most tedious event of the year – except maybe Christmas, though at least most of the students went home during the holidays. The Leaving feast was tolerable however, largely because Slytherin had won the House Cup for the past seven years. Unluckily for him, Dumbledore insisted that every member of staff attend the Welcoming feast to watch the Sorting and greet the little brats.

That said, this was the first time in years he had felt even the slightest interest in the Sorting; usually he would watch with boredom as the hat sung nauseatingly and quartered the students, barely even applauding the new Slytherins. But this year the new intake of first years would include several students he knew of. His friends Lucius and Narcissa had a son who was starting – well, of course Draco would be in Slytherin, there was no question there. Snape had met the boy several times while dining at Malfoy Manor, and the child was practically a carbon-copy of his father.

The Potter boy would also be starting at Hogwarts – he suppressed a sigh at the thought of having to teach him for seven whole years, the living reminder of his damn failure. The boy would no doubt be in Gryffindor too, though at least that way he could take out his frustration by docking as many points as he liked.

Once all of the students had settled in their seats, the doors of the Great Hall swung open. Professor McGonagall strode down the aisle with the first years trailing nervously after her. They were all staring around the Hall with looks of amazement, tripping over their feet because they were too busy gawking. He supposed they were lucky this year in that it wasn't raining for once – he remembered crossing the lake in a torrential thunderstorm before his own Sorting, Lily clutching his hand as the boat was tossed viciously on the water.

Instantly, his eyes found Potter and his scowl deepened. The boy was his father in miniature, the same stature, the same ridiculous hair standing up all over the place. With all the mystery and fame surrounding him, he would no doubt end up being just as arrogant.

The first years lined up in front of the staff-table, facing the school. He scanned the backs of the students heads until he found the girl with bushy brown hair. He suppressed a smirk when he noticed that she was fidgeting in excitement, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet as Professor McGonagall set the stool and the Sorting hat in front of them.

Trying his hardest to block out the hats singing, he studied the other students; he saw Draco's white blonde hair slicked back against his head, then further down the line, standing next to Potter, was a boy with a shock of vivid red hair – _not another Weasley_, he thought, glancing at the brood sitting at the Gryffindor table. Would that family ever stop breeding?

Professor McGonagall started to call the students names and they went forward one by one. When Hermione was called she practically ran to the stool, eagerly shoving the hat on her head. He sat up a little straighter, paying attention - she was a bit of an enigma, after all. She would certainly be an asset to whichever house she ended up in. His head said Slytherin, but his gut said that she wouldn't feel at home in his house. Just as long as she wasn't in –

"_Gryffindor_!" the hat shouted. He suppressed a sigh and leaned back in his chair as the middle table erupted in cheers. Hermione practically skipped over and threw herself into one of the seats, beaming. At least this way he would only have to put up with her damn questions in potions, he told himself.

The rest of the Sorting was fairly predictable; Draco was placed in his house the moment the hat touched his head, swaggering off to sit with the Slytherins. When Potter's name was called the Hall dissolved into curious whispers and craned necks, and after a fairly long pause the hat placed him in Gryffindor to tumulus clapping and whooping.

Once the Sorting had finished, Dumbledore introduced the start of the Feast. Snape merely picked at his food, wanting nothing more than to go back down to the dungeons and get away from the loud babble of the Hall. He was sitting next to Quirinus Quirrell, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who had recently returned from travelling the world. Quirrell, who had previously been young and confident, now jumped at every noise, spoke in a stuttering voice and sported a rather ridiculous turban. Needless to say, he was no longer a good conversationalist.

Sensing a pair of eyes upon him, Snape glanced past Quirrell's head to the Gryffindor table, where Hermione was eagerly talking to one of the elder Weasley's. His eyes met Harry Potters for the briefest moment before he looked away again – the boy had Lily's eyes. He hadn't noticed at first from so far away.

He steadfastly avoided looking at the Gryffindor table for the rest of the meal. He was relieved when Dumbledore finally gave the start of term notices and dismissed the school. Standing up, he walked quickly along the back of the staff-table towards the small door at the back of the room.

"A moment, Severus," Dumbledore said as he tried to stalk past the Headmaster's chair. Cursing under his breath, he turned to face the old man.

"Yes?" he said tersely.

Dumbledore surveyed him over the rim of his goblet, apparently choosing his words. "I do hope, Severus, that Miss Grangers house will not prevent you from becoming better acquainted with her during her time here," he said eventually, his expression serious.

Snape scowled and folded his arms into his voluminous robes. "I told you before, Albus," he hissed vehemently, conscious of the students and the rest of the staff nearby. "I have no desire to befriend students, regardless of their house."

"I see," Dumbledore said, nodding. "Though I do hope you change your mind, Severus. Talking with a young, eager mind can be delightfully refreshing. You might find you enjoy it."

"I doubt it," he muttered under his breath, turning on his heel and sweeping from the Hall.

* * *

Hermione shifted in her seat as the rest of the class settled down, still chattering as they pulled out their books. Today was their first Potions lesson, something she had been looking forward to almost as much as Transfiguration. Potions was held down in the dungeons; the classroom was chilly, with bits of pickled animals in glass jars – she had read enough to recognise them all as different Potions ingredients.

People had told her that Professor Snape was a mean, heartless teacher who penalised any student who wasn't in Slytherin, but she couldn't believe that – not after the day they had spent shopping together. Perhaps he put on a cold exterior to teach, but she could tell he was a nice person inside.

He strode suddenly into the classroom, banging the door loudly behind him. The class instantly fell silent, their frightened eyes following him as he stalked to the front of the room. Hermione caught his eye and smiled, but he didn't betray even a flicker of recognition.

The first years scarcely breathed as he took a register, announcing their presence in the classroom with squeaking or shaking voices. Like several other teachers had, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new – _celebrity_."

Several of the Gryffindors exchanged uneasy looks while the Slytherins snickered spitefully. Professor Snape finished calling the names and stood at the front of the class, surveying them coolly. He cut a rather impressive figure in his black robes, his arms folded imposingly into the material.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he said, speaking barely above a whisper that still captivated the whole class. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through the human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ...'

His dark eyes were sweeping the classroom as he spoke. Hermione leaned forward until she was sitting on the very edge of her seat, entranced and excited at the thought of brewing something. "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bung of dunderheads as I usually have to teach," he added on the end, smirking nastily.

The class sat in silence, hardly daring to move after his speech.

"Potter!" Professor Snape said suddenly, making them all jump. "What would I get if I added powdered-root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Hermione's hand flew into the air almost instinctively – she had read about the Draught of Living Death in one of her textbooks and recognised the ingredients; it was a NEWT level potion, so it was actually rather unfair of the Professor to ask Harry about it at the start of their very first lesson.

"I don't know, sir," Harry said quietly.

The Professor sneered. "Tut tut - fame clearly isn't everything," he said in mock disappointment. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry still looked nonplussed, so Hermione stretched her hand further into the air – it was obvious she knew the answers, so why was he ignoring her?

"I don't know, sir," Harry said again, even quieter this time.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Snape said maliciously, his lip curling as he continued to ignore her hand quivering in the air. "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Frustrated, Hermione actually stood up with her hand still raised as high as she could reach.

"I don't know," Harry said, a tiny bite of impatience entering his voice. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

Hermione flushed slightly and several people sniggered.

"Sit down," the Professor snapped at her viciously, and she sunk slowly back to her seat. Snape rounded on Harry again. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping draught so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant which also goes by the name of aconite." He paused and glared around the class. "Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

After docking a point from Gryffindor, Professor Snape set them the task of mixing a fairly simple potion to cure boils. He stalked around the room, criticizing almost everyone. Hermione looked into her cauldron; she was positive she had done everything right so far, yet she was still nervous as he approached her. She smiled hopefully at him, but his eyes didn't so much as flicker. He examined the mixture over his hooked nose and then simply sniffed before moving silently on – she felt the smallest pang of disappointment, wanting for some acknowledgement.

She listened almost enviously as the Professor praised a Slytherin boy named Draco on the way he had stewed his horned slugs, but the entire class was distracted by the copious amounts of green smoke filling the dungeon – within seconds, most of the class were standing on the stools to avoid the potion seeping across the floor from the twisted remains of Seamus and Neville's cauldron.

"Idiot boy!" Snape snarled, vanishing the mess with a single wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered in pain as the class cautiously came down from their stools, but the Professor was unsympathetic. "Take him up to the hospital wing," he spat at Seamus, who slipped an arm around Neville and helped him hobble towards the door.

Snape rounded on Harry and Ron, blaming them unjustly for the accident and taking away another point. Bristling with indignation at the unfairness, the Gryffindors worked in silence until the end of the lesson while the Slytherins sniggered behind their hands.

By the end of the lesson, Hermione felt she had made a perfectly passable boil-cure; it was the exact colour and consistency the book said it should be, whereas several other people appeared to have botched up their attempts spectacularly. Snape ordered them to bottle a sample of their potions and leave them on his desk for marking.

The bell rang and most of the class rushed to deliver their potions before practically fleeing the classroom, leaving her alone in the classroom. She put her vial on his desk and hesitated a moment - after all, there was a chance he was just being unpleasant because of the other students; she had seen what he could be like when no-one else was around.

"Did you enjoy the rest of your summer, Professor?" she asks timidly.

He raised his black eyes from the stack of essays he was marking. "It was adequate."

She fidgeted a little and tucked her frizzy hair behind one ear. "Um, that book you recommended on potions theory. I was reading the chapter on organic ingredients, and I was wondering -"

"Miss Granger, don't you have somewhere else you need to be?" he interrupted sternly, turning the quill over and over in his fingers.

"No sir, we have Friday afternoons off."

"Then go and do something constructive, Miss Granger, instead of hanging around my classroom," he ordered coldly, clearly dismissing her.

"Oh ... right," she said, adjusting the strap of her bag and backing towards the door. "Bye Professor."

He didn't acknowledge her goodbye, having returned to the essays – she recognised the red ink as the one he had bought while they were in Diagon Alley. The corridor outside the classroom was deserted, all the other students having rushed off to enjoy their free afternoon. She wondered for a moment of she should go join them, but decided against it – she would go to the library.

* * *

Snape paced in front of Dumbledore's desk, having been ranting to the old man for the past quarter of an hour. Dumbledore had called him up to his office and within minutes the conversation had inevitably turned to Potter.

"-mediocre, arrogant as his father, a determined rule breaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention seeking and impertinent -"

"You see what you expect to see, Severus," Dumbledore said, without raising his eyes from the latest edition of _Transfiguration Today_. "Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likable and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child."

Dumbledore licked a finger, turned a page of his magazine and said, without looking up, "Keep an eye on Quirrell, won't you?"

Snape snorted. "Of course I will," he said derisively. "There is definitely something different about him – he was far too interested in the other teachers' protections of the stone, and I don't buy his nervous act for one moment."

"You know I agree, Severus," Dumbledore said, still perusing his magazine. "Which is precisely why I am asking you to keep tabs on him."

Snape eyed the Headmaster shrewdly. "I don't know why you are still letting him teach here."

Dumbledore said nothing.

"It might not be safe for the students, after all. I'm sure you could persuade Slughorn to come out of retirement," he continued. "I could cover Quirrell's lessons -"

"No, Severus," the old man said, turning another page.

Snape sighed and headed towards the door of the office – they were covering old ground now, there was no point in going back over the arguments over why he shouldn't teach Defence Against the Dark Arts.

"Oh, and Severus?" Dumbledore said, just as he had his hand on the doorknob.

"What?"

"How is Miss Granger settling in?" he asked, closing the magazine and examining him with his piercing eyes.

Snape frowned – the girl was steadily becoming a thorn in his side. Every lesson she would smile shyly at him. She would ask him questions that annoyed him largely because of how advanced or insightful they were. And, worst of all, she had taken to greeting him whenever he past her in the corridor. It was just a simple 'good afternoon,' but students _never_ greeted him, not even his Slytherins because they knew they couldn't get anything out of it – he was supposed to be respected and he enjoyed being feared.

He needed to do something about the situation.

"How should I know?" he said bitingly to the Headmaster. "She isn't in my house."

He pulled the door open and swept from the office, wondering if he had sounded bitter about the fact.

* * *

Hermione slowly repacked her bag as Professor Flitwick dismissed the class. She should be feeling happy, having been the only one to successfully perform the levitation charm, but instead she felt rather lonely – Ronald Weasley had made it rather clear that he didn't want to work with her, and had then sulked when she had managed the charm on her first try.

She pulled the bag over her shoulder, wincing at its weight – she had got several books out of the library for light reading. Leaving the classroom, she smiled a little when she saw Professor Snape stalking down the corridor in his customary manner, his black robes billowing rather impressively.

"Good morning, Professor," she said as he approached.

He scowled furiously for some reason and grabbed her arm, startling her as he propelled her into a deserted side corridor.

"Miss Granger, you are to stop that ridiculous greeting every time you see me," he said firmly, releasing her arm as if she was caustic. "I am your Professor and will be treated accordingly, do I make myself clear?"

"But sir -"

"No, Miss Granger," he said, interrupting her confusion. His face was deadly serious – she noticed for the first time just how emotionless his obsidian eyes were. "The only time I want to see your face is in the classroom and I only want to hear your voice is in the unlikely event that I actually _ask_ you to answer a question, _not_ you volunteering the information all the time."

She didn't understand – he had talked to her, made her laugh, frightened her bullies. He had even taken her shopping and recommended books to her. She hadn't done anything wrong, hadn't broken any rules – she didn't know why he was telling her off. All she had done was say good morning.

"Sir, I don't -"

"Listen to me very carefully, Miss Granger, because I will not repeat myself." He drew himself up to his full and rather imposing height, glaring down at her. "I am your Professor, I am most certainly _not _your friend."

She bit her lip, fighting tears at his cruel words. Unable to stop herself, a small sob hitched in her throat – not wanting him to have the satisfaction of seeing her crying, she turned and ran up the corridor and into the courtyard.

"Its levi-_O_-sa, not levio_sar_," she heard Ron say, imitating her in a falsely stiletto voice, while the other boys laughed. "It's no wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly."

Feeling overwhelmed, Hermione hurried passed them, bashing into Harry. Breaking into a run again, she reached the toilets and barricaded herself into one of the cubicles, startling several sixth-year girls who were gossiping by the sinks. Surrendering to her tears, she sat down on the closed toilet lid and buried her face in her hands.

She wanted to go home.

* * *

Halloween was one of the more enjoyable events at Hogwarts, in Snape's opinion. Yes, the students got nauseatingly excited and yes, several members of staff tended to overindulge rather embarrassingly on the elf-made wine after the feast – but the food was always decent, and he rather enjoyed the decorations.

The feast had barely started, however, when the doors of the Great Hall burst open – Quirrell hurried in, a look of total panic on his face, instantly capturing the attention of everyone in the hall.

"Troll! In the dungeons - troll in the dungeons!" he shouted towards the staff table. He swayed on his feet, his turban askew, and then said in a far weaker voice, "Thought you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was uproar. It took several purple firecrackers from the end of Dumbledore's wand to bring about silence.

"Prefects, lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately," Dumbledore ordered.

As the students quickly filed out of the Hall, Dumbledore grabbed Snape's arm, preventing him from joining the rest of the teachers as they made their way to the dungeons, wands out and ready.

"Severus, guard the third floor," he said quietly.

"You're just going to leave him there?" Snape hissed back, jerking his head at Quirrell's prone form. "Albus, it's obvious he let the troll in as a diversion."

"Which is why I want you to guard the third floor," Dumbledore said firmly, waiting for him to nod in agreement before leaving to accompany the staff to the dungeons.

Snape made his way quickly to the third floor corridor, not seeing anyone on the way. Once he reached the door, he disillusioned himself and stepped into the shadows to wait. He was only there a few minutes when Quirrell appeared, walking with an air of confidence he previously hadn't possessed.

"Good evening, Quirinus," he said, stepping out of the shadows just as Quirrell reached for the door handle.

"S-s-severus," he said, obviously surprised to see him there. "What are y-you-"

Snape folded his arms and stared down at the young Defence teacher. "I could ask you the same question."

"I-I-I – the troll, in t-the dun-dungeons-"

"Yes?" he said, rather enjoying himself.

"I t-thought maybe t-t-the troll I p-placed as an o-ob-obstacle might h-have escaped," he stuttered feebly.

"I see," Snape said, sneering. "So after recovering from your _nasty_ fainting spell you decided to come straight here."

"H-had to ch-check," Quirrell said, wringing his hands. "The s-students -"

"One would have thought that if you cared the even the smallest amount for the students you would have dealt with the troll yourself – you must have the ability, after all you placed one as your obstacle." Snape tapped his chin with one long finger in mock-puzzlement. "Strange then, that you fainted when trolls are your specialty, are they not?"

"D-don't know what y-you mean, S-s-severus."

Snape smirked and stepped away from the door. "Well in that case, don't let me keep you."

"S-severus?"

"Go ahead," he said, gesturing towards the door. "You wanted to ... _check_ that your troll hadn't escaped." His smirk widened as Quirrell eyes darted from him to the door and back again. "I won't stop you."

Quirrell didn't move, still wringing his hands. Snape grasped the handle of the door and paused, monitoring Quirrell's fearful expression.

"Allow me," he said nastily, wrenching the door open.

Hagrid's hell-hound was sleeping, the three heads resting on its gigantic paws. It stirred, and growled sleepily, obviously hearing the door.

"Beauty, isn't it?" Snape said silkily, ready to slam the door at a moment's notice. "Impossible to pass – now tell me, do you really think your troll would have managed to escape?"

Waking up properly now, the dogs' three heads snarled a warning.

A piercing, terrified shriek came from below them and Snape instinctively turned his head a fraction – just as the dog lunged.

Luckily for him, the dog couldn't fit its whole head through the narrow doorway, though it did manage to seize the hem of his robes and pull him painfully to the floor. Quirrell fled up the corridor without a backwards glance.

Snape cursed under his breath, kicking out as the dog dragged him forward. With a flick of his wrist his wand fell from his sleeve into his hand. Non-verbally, he blasted the dog backwards – he heard one head whine in pain, but the other two snarled and fought to force their heads though the door, jaws snapping angrily.

Gasping slightly, Snape pulled himself back from the door with his hands – his leg was bleeding from where the hell-hounds teeth had grazed it, but the wound was only superficial. Flicking his wand, he slammed and locked the door once more.

He could hear banging and shouting coming from the floor below – he remembered the scream, it had almost sounded like ...

"Oh _Merlin_," he groaned.

Hauling himself to his feet, he took off down the corridor, ignoring the pain that flared up his leg as he ran. He overtook a rather surprised looking Quirrell on the stairs, and saw Professor McGonagall in front of him.

"Minerva!" he called, catching up to her

"What in heaven's name is going on?" she demanded, her glasses askew.

He shook his head, indicating that he didn't know, and pointed down the corridor - the noise was coming from the girls' bathroom.

Dashing in front of him and drawing her wand, Minerva burst into the bathroom, quickly followed by the two men – the mountain troll was sprawled on the bathroom floor with Potter and Weasley standing over it.

Hermione sat against the far wall, her face streaked with the remnants of tears. She was visibly trembling and covered in water and dust from the debris.

Quirrell took one look at the apparently-unconscious troll on the floor and promptly sat on the toilet with a whimper, clutching his heart.

_Bloody coward,_ Snape thought, checking to make sure the troll was actually unconscious.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" Minerva said coldly to the two boys; having been reassured that the students were safe, fury was quickly over taking her. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Snape shot a quick look at Potter – barely a month at the school and he was already showing signs of getting into as much trouble as his father, as well as leading others into dangerous circumstances.

"Please, Professor McGonagall – they were looking for me," Hermione said from the corner. She had managed to get to her feet, but was still holding the wall in support.

"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall said in surprise, appearing to only just notice her.

"I went looking for the troll because I – I thought I could deal with it on my own – you know, because I've read all about them."

Snape narrowed his eyes at her. He didn't need legimency to tell that she was lying.

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Unable to resist, Snape performed a non-verbal legimens and slipped easily into her mind, knowing that this wasn't the truth – he caught flashes of her crying in the toilets, the memory awash in a feeling of complete isolation. Wondering what had lead her to this, he probed a little deeper – he saw blurred memories of her muggle bullies, his own face snarling at her to leave him alone, then a hurtful comment from Weasley.

Did she really care so much about the way he treated her?

Pulling away from her mind, he noticed Potter staring intently at his leg. Realising that a narrow streak of blood was showing from where the dogs teeth had grazed him, he quickly covered himself with his robes. The boy looked at him suspiciously for a moment, but Snape had turned back to look at McGonagall – he couldn't bear the sight of distrust in those green eyes, even if they were in James Potters face.

"Well – in that case ..." Professor McGonagall said, having believed the bald-faced lie Hermione had just told. "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

Hermione dropped her eyes from the Professor, hanging her head.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this. I am very disappointed in you," she said, making the girl nod contritely, her eyes on the floor. "If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to the Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses."

Dismissed, Hermione stepped over the trolls outstretched arm towards the door. As she left, her eyes flicked up to his for the briefest moment, before she lowered her head and scurried away down the corridor.

She didn't smile, she certainly didn't greet him – all was as it should be.

Snape didn't pay much attention to Minerva's comments to the two boys, not even contesting when she awarded them five points apiece. Instead he was thinking about how he had put the situation with Miss Granger to rights – that he was now her Professor, no longer the man who had explained the magical world to her and answered her queries – and wondering why that left him with the smallest feeling of dissatisfaction.

* * *

It was the first Quidditch match of the season, and there was an undeniable atmosphere of excitement in the air – largely due to the fact Harry was playing Seeker for Gryffindor had been leaked out somehow.

Hermione made her way through the stands, feeling quite pleased with herself – the Gryffindor first years had all made a banner for Harry, reading _Potter for President_ with a Gryffindor lion underneath; Hermione had performed a third-year charm to make the letters flash different colours.

Even though she had read all about the sport, this was the first Quidditch match she had ever seen. Even she could admit that watching it firsthand was better than reading, but as the game progressed she quickly realised that it wasn't a sport she would follow with much interest, like the rest of the Wizarding world seemed to.

Hagrid, who Harry and Ron had introduced her too after the incident with the troll, had just come to join them when Harry went into a spectacular dive – the two Seekers raced across the pitch, until Harry was blocked by a huge, gormless looking Slytherin boy.

"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.

One of the Chasers took the penalty, scoring another goal for Gryffindor. It was a few minutes later, just after Slytherin had scored, that people realised something was wrong. Squinting upwards, they could make out Harry on his broomstick, jerking about like a fish caught on a line and holding on for dear life.

Suddenly, his broom rolled over and over in midair, finishing with a sudden lurch that left Harry dangling by only one hand.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispered fearfully.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark Magic – no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

At his words, Hermione seized the binoculars and started scanning the crowd. It had to be a jinx or a curse of some kind – and that would mean someone would have to keep eye contact –

But who – _who_?

"What are you doing?" Ron moaned, tugging on her sleeve – just as she spotted someone.

"I knew it," she gasped, horrified by the realisation of who was jinxing Harry's broom. "It's Snape – look."

Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering non-stop under his breath.

"He's doing something – jinxing the broom," she said, staring at him – _why_? she thought. She knew he disliked Harry, but to try to _kill_ him?

"What should we do?" Ron asked, still grey-faced.

She felt a sudden determination. "Leave it to me."

Hermione fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood and raced along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand and whispered a few, well chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand on to the hem of Snape's robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realise he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket she scrambled back along the row – not noticing the black eyes burning into her retreating figure.

* * *

He knew it was a bad idea – a bad idea and certainly not a healthy one.

Nevertheless, he silently walked up the corridor as if he was under the Imperious Curse. He glanced briefly around to make sure no-one was nearby, and then slipped into the empty classroom.

Cautiously, he approached the Mirror of Erised, knowing exactly what he would see. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and held it, before stepping in front of the Mirror.

And there she was.

His breath left him in a sudden gasp. Though he had prepared himself, the beauty and clarity of the vision shocked him to the core.

She was younger than she had been, still wearing her uniform. The sunlight sparkled on her red hair. His teenage self appeared behind her, casually slipping an arm around her waist. She laughed and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek –

No.

_I am better than this_, he thought, backing away until the vision faded and the Mirrors surface returned to glassy emptiness. _I will not dwell on memories._

* * *

Snape rapped his knuckles on Dumbledore's door and waited for a response.

"Enter," the old man called from within his office. He pushed open the door and stalked inside.

"You wanted to see me?" he said, taking his customary seat in front of the desk.

"Yes, I did – sherbet lemon?" Albus offered.

"Emphatically,_ no_," Snape said, examining his fingernails. "What is this about then? If it is to do with Potter's potions grade, then I will not help you indulge your favouritism – it's not my fault he performed appallingly."

"It is actually to do with Professor Quirrell," Dumbledore said.

Snape looked up from his hands, sitting straighter in his chair.

"With the end of term approaching, I believe he will make his move soon," he continued.

"What makes you think so?"

"As you know, I am friendly with the local barman at the Hogs Head," Dumbledore said, helping himself to another of his sickly sweets. "Apparently Hagrid was rather liberal with some information about Cerberus dogs after a hooded stranger bought him several pints of mead. He was rather interested in the subject of magical creatures and just happened to have a dragon egg in his pocket."

"Why are you telling me this now?" Snape asked, frowning. "Hagrid won that damn egg weeks ago."

"I received a missive from the Ministry today, and shall be leaving the school," Dumbledore told him. "I simply wanted to put you on your guard."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

Dumbledore smiled. "I leave the school in quite capable hands."

"Very well, if that's all ..." he said, half rising from his chair.

"One more thing, Severus. Speaking of exams -"

"We weren't," Snape interrupted brusquely.

"You mentioned them when you came in, my boy," the old man said cheerfully. "I thought that it might interest you to know that Miss Granger has beaten the record for the first year exam results in two centuries."

Reluctantly impressed, Snape raised his eyebrows once more. "Why would that interest me?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I think you missed out in a good friend in Hermione, Severus."

"Enjoy your trip," he said, standing up.

"It wouldn't hurt you to at least be civil to her," Albus said. "She hasn't done anything wrong, you know."

Snape snorted derisively and left the office, remembering how she had set him on fire at that damn Quidditch match – the girl had some nerve, he had to give her that.

* * *

Hermione looked back anxiously over her shoulder – she knew they had to go on, but leaving Ron behind, unconscious on that chessboard was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do. Holding their robes over their mouths to cover the smell, Harry led her through the room with the unconscious troll and pulled open the next door.

"Snape's," Harry breathed, looking at the row of bottles on the table. "What do we have to do?"

They both jumped as flames roared behind them, sealing off the door – these weren't ordinary flames either, they were a vivid, almost nauseating purple. At the same time, black flames covered the doorway in front, trapping them.

Hermione gasped, recognising the flames as controlled variations of fiendfyre from _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ – there was no way they could be extinguished and a single touch of flame could scorch a person to cinders. But this was meant to be an obstacle, not a prison. She looked at the potions, thinking hard - there had to be a way ...

"Look!" she said, noticing a roll of parchment next to the bottles. Seizing the scroll, she instantly recognised the narrow, spidery writing as Professor Snapes. Holding her breath, she began to read.

_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_

_Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,_

_One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

_Another will transport the drinker back instead,_

_Two among our number hold only nettle wine,_

_Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line._

_Choose unless you wish to stay here for evermore,_

_To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

_First, however slyly the poison tries to hide_

_You will always find some on nettle wines left side;_

_Second, different are those who stand at either end,_

_But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;_

_Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_

_Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_

_Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

_Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

Hermione's breath whooshed out as she finished reading – yes, the man was evil, he had tried to kill Harry and was going to steal the stone, but she couldn't help but be amazed. It was genius. It was so logical, so simple, so _clever_. To put it plainly, despite being in league with Voldemort, the Potions Master was simply-

"..._Brilliant_," she breathed out loud.

* * *

Hermione made her way slowly through the corridors, looking wistfully at all of the portraits and the suits of armour. Lessons had officially finished, and the Leaving Feast was in half an hour – Slytherin had won the house cup, of course. The next morning they would all be packed onto the train to leave the beautiful castle for a whole summer.

Harry was due to leave the hospital wing any minute, so she and Ron were going to meet him. She smiled, thinking how lucky they had all been to actually survive. Professor Dumbledore had visited them in the hospital and congratulated them on their bravery and intelligence on getting past the obstacles; he had then winked and said he hoped they enjoyed the feast.

She supposed it had all worked out – she couldn't help but be relieved that Professor Snape hadn't been in league with Voldemort after all. Harry had told them that he had actually saved his life at that Quidditch match by performing a counter-curse – Hermione had flushed, feeling guilty for setting him on fire.

"Miss Granger," a familiar voice said from behind her.

She jumped and spun around. Professor Snape was approaching her silently from the end of the corridor. "Good afternoon, Professor," she said simply, nodding her head a little.

Professor Snape stopped right in front of her, his black eyes boring into hers. He was silent for a very long moment. "I believe congratulations are in order."

"Sir?"

Snape's lip curled into a sneer. "Not many twelve year old girls would have been able to solve my riddle, Miss Granger."

She blinked in surprise. "Oh, well you designed it to be solved, sir," she said modestly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Snape raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

"The four clues," she continued, "they gave you everything you needed to know."

He nodded slowly, reluctantly. "Many wizards would still have failed."

Hermione smiled a little. "Harry thought we might be stuck there forever."

"He certainly would not have got far without you," Snape said, turning to leave – he had somehow made it sound more like a jibe at Harry than a compliment to her.

"Erm, Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?" he said, looking back at her.

"I do have one question," she admitted apologetically.

"What a surprise."

"Why did you make the riddle solvable?" she asked curiously, tilting her head to one side.

"Excuse me?"

"Why did you make it solvable?" she repeated. "You could have not given clues to help. Or just put poison in all the bottles, or another potion that would have incapacitated someone."

Snape gave her an apprising look. "It was my intention to do so at first, but I moderated the obstacle on the Headmasters' orders. It seemed he did not approve of some of my more ... _original _ideas," he said, smirking.

"Oh." She fidgeted, processing that information. "So the headmaster intended for the stone to be accessible?"

"Not easily so, but in essence yes," he admitted. "The stone was meant to be protected, not incarcerated."

"I see," she said, nodding.

Snape inclined his head towards her. "Good day, Miss Granger."

"Professor?" she called as he turned away again. She had thought of another question.

"What now?" he said, betraying the smallest bit of impatience.

"I was wondering ... how did Professor Quirrell get through the flames? None of the potions had been touched."

"Dark magic, Miss Granger," he said simply.

"And sir?"

"Merlin, girl – do your questions never end?" he demanded.

She hesitated, looking shyly down at her feet. "I just wanted to say that I'm glad it wasn't you. Trying to steal the stone, I mean," she said in a rushed voice.

Snape quirked his eyebrows once more, looking genuinely surprised. "You suspected me?"

She nodded, a little ashamedly. "I thought it was you trying to kill Harry."

His expression darkened once more. "Mr Potter is a thorn in my side, but I certainly don't want him dead, Miss Granger."

"I know," she said quickly, a little disturbed by the intensity of his gaze.

There was silence between them for a long moment. She smiled hesitantly at him. "Enjoy your summer, Professor."

"Likewise, Miss Granger."

With one last, shy smile, Hermione turned and continued down the corridor towards the Entrance hall – she had barely taken five steps when he called her back again.

"And Miss Granger?" he said, still standing in the centre of the corridor.

"Yes sir?" she asked, looking over her shoulder.

Snape's face was twisted into the strangest expression, almost like he was trying not to smile. "Bear in mind," he said in his silky voice, "even if I _am_ jinxing your friends - if you ever set me on fire again, I will not hesitate to return the favour."

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Hermione stared after him, completely stunned – then she started to smile. She couldn't believe he had known the whole time about her setting him on fire and hadn't reported it. She knew he was alright really.

"What are you smiling at?" Ron demanded when she reached the Entrance hall.

"Nothing," she said, despite the goofy smile that somehow wouldn't go away – something about her conversation with Snape had lightened her. She noticed the small, dark haired boy appear below them and nudged Ron. "Ron, its Harry!"

Harry smiled up at the pair of them. He was still bandaged up, but looked fairly happy. "Alright?" he asked simply.

"Alright," Ron said, leaning over the banister. "You?"

"Alright," Harry shrugged, still smiling. "Hermione?"

Hermione grinned at them, her two best friends, feeling as if her heart would burst with contentment. "Never better."

* * *

**Question time ... what would your favourite type of magical sweet be? **

**I personally like the sound of every-flavour-beans or Drooples best-blowing-gum.**

**Also, I've mentioned that I'm going to change the name of this – at the moment I am leaning towards 'Affinity', meaning ****a natural attraction, liking, or feeling of kinship / An inherent similarity between persons or things – what do people think?**

**Review! **


	4. The Chamber of Secrets

Thanks for all the reviews – they are like warm, fuzzy hugs

**Also, sorry for the _appalling_ wait between updates – I was doing nanowrimo in November, and then December was full of family stuff and university essays. But still, back on form now, and you shouldn't have to wait so long for an update again.**

**As ever – I own nothing.**

* * *

Severus Snape stalked out of his office, letting the door slam shut behind him. His copy of the _Evening Prophet _had arrived a few minutes earlier with the headline blazing FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES. Curious as to which member of the Wizarding community would be stupid enough to drive a flying _car_ in broad daylight, he had glanced at the article – and had then done a double take as he noticed the photo.

Potter and Weasley were going to be in so much trouble.

Reaching the Entrance Hall, he glanced out of the open doors and saw the tail end of the carriages arrive, the Thestrals snorting and stamping their hooves. Students were clambering out and forming a trickle to the front doors of the school. From the Hall he could hear the babble of the students who had already sat down, eager to gossip about their holidays.

He should really make his way to the staff-table to show Dumbledore the article, knowing he would also be berated if he was late for the Sorting – detestable event that it was - but was distracted by the sight of a small, brown-haired girl loitering near the doors, casting anxious looks out into the night.

"Miss Granger," he called, making her jump and spin around.

"Oh, good evening Professor," she said, glancing over her shoulder again.

"Without your usual entourage, Miss Granger?" he sneered, suppressing a twinge of relief that Granger wouldn't be expelled along with the boys since she wasn't in the car with them. It would be a waste of her potential.

She bit her lip a little nervously. "I don't know where they are, Sir."

He smirked, still holding the article behind his back.

Hermione continued talking worriedly. "They were supposed to meet us at Kings Cross – all the rest of the Weasley's were there, and they didn't know what had happened either. I looked up and down the train for them, in every compartment, but -"

"That will do, Miss Granger," he said smoothly, interrupting her babbling.

She had just confirmed what he already knew, that the dunderheaded duo weren't on the train. He knew that Mr Weasley had an obsession with muggle objects so it was no mystery where the boys had obtained the car; enchanting it to make it fly was another matter and was breaking several Ministry laws.

Obviously Potter was more stupid than he looked – a rather incredible feat, Snape thought - if he thought he could get away with flying an illegal car to Hogwarts, flouting the Decree for the Restriction of Under-aged Wizardry and risking the exposure of the Wizarding world.

"Go and sit down, Miss Granger," he said, jerking his head towards the Hall. "I will look for Mr Potter and Mr Weasley."

He smirked nastily, imagining the look on the boys face when they landed the illegal car in Hogwarts grounds, only to be expelled within minutes. It was shaping up to be a fine evening; two Gryffindors in deep trouble and he would probably be able to skip the Sorting.

"Can I not come with you, Sir?" she asked, tilting her head to one side. "I want to help find them."

"Certainly not," he snapped. "Now get into the Hall before I deduct points."

"Yes Professor," she said contritely. He waited until she had joined the group of students entering the Hall and glanced at the staff table where the teachers were already assembled – he would wait until he had the boys in custody before presenting the hard evidence to Dumbledore. He turned on his heel and walking out into the night.

* * *

A few weeks into the school year, Hermione was in the library looking up thermal-theories for her Potions essay. It was really third year material, but unlike the other teachers Professor Snape never commented on the extra effort she put into her work. Occasionally, if she had written over the prescribed length, he would simply put a line through the extra words and write '_cut the prattle'_ in his spiky, narrow handwriting.

She heard a familiar, jovial voice that made her heart flutter slightly and footsteps approaching the Potions section.

"Honestly Severus, it's really not that difficult to understand!" Professor Lockhart was saying almost condescendingly. Judging by the footsteps, Professor Snape was walking quite quickly – he rounded the corner of the Potions section ahead of Lockhart, and then stopped as he saw Hermione there.

"In _Gadding with the Ghouls_ I give a through explanation about slow-acting venoms which I really think could benefit your curriculum – oh, good afternoon, Miss Granger!" Lockhart said, also noticing her as he entered the Potions section.

"Hello," Hermione said a little nervously, fiddling with the corner of her essay.

"I was just convincing Severus to use _Gadding with the Ghouls_ as a Potions textbook," he said, smiling toothily. "So much more entertaining than that boring old thing about herbs and fungi, wouldn't you agree, Miss Granger?"

"Erm ..." she said, well aware of Snape's highly irritated expression.

"See Severus?" he said, beaming like a super-nova. "Miss Granger agrees and she is the brightest student in the year!"

Hermione flushed scarlet at the praise.

Snape, however, seemed to have reached the end of his tether. "Be that as it may, Lockhart, neither she nor you are qualified to decide such matters," he said with silky menace. "And since I have not, nor do I ever intend to read the book, you can be assured that the only thing it would be good for in my classroom is to light the fires under the cauldrons."

"You haven't read it?" Lockhart said, his blue eyes widening in astonishment – he didn't seem to hear the insult in Professor Snape's words. "Well in that case I simply _must_ give you a copy – I'll sign one for you and send it over tonight. Must be off – goodbye!" he said genially, waving a hand at them before sauntering away between the shelves.

"Bloody idiot," Snape muttered under his breath, stalking towards the nearest bookshelf and examining it.

He must have heard Hermione's scandalised gasp, since he looked over at her. "You disagree with me, Miss Granger?" he said coolly.

"I was just surprised to hear you talking about your colleague in such a way," she said a little reproachfully – though the treacherous thought of pixies wreaking havoc on the classroom slipped into her mind. "And he has done so many amazing things."

"Lockhart is not a colleague, he is a _nuisance_," Snape said, a hint of what sounded like bitterness in his voice; everyone knew the rumours of Professor Snape wanting the Defence position. "And as far as all the things he has done – well, if you believe that, then you aren't as clever as I thought."

"You think he is a fraud?" she said, shocked.

"Certainly," Snape said. He approached her table and tilted her essay towards himself, looking over her work so far. "He tries far too hard to convince people, which is always a giveaway, and pretends he knows more than others – the idiot actually followed me here from the Entrance Hall, preaching about his book and some ghoul he supposedly defeated."

"But his books -"

"Miss Granger, do not be so naive as to believe everything you read in books," he said sternly.

Hermione hesitated, sensing she wouldn't win this argument – even though she couldn't believe Professor Lockhart would lie about such things. "What will you do with the book he said he would send you?" she asked curiously, intentionally diverting the conversation.

Snape looked up from her essay and smirked evilly. "Exactly what I said I would do." He pushed her essay back towards her, then walked to the shelf. He plucked a narrow, dusty looking book from the top shelf with his long, pale fingers and tossed it down in front of her.

"I would use that instead of Goffman's work," he said, nodding toward the textbook she was already using. "Though it's older, the theories are more accurate."

"Thank you, sir," she said in surprise, leafing eagerly through the textbook.

He nodded dismissively and turned to leave. "And do try to keep to one roll of parchment, Miss Granger," he added over his shoulder before prowling away between the shelves.

* * *

Snape sat at the staff-table, scowling around the Hall. Though Halloween was by far the most tolerable of the school events, it was still a Feast during which the students got nauseatingly excited from eating far too many sweets, and many of the staff got disgustingly inebriated after the students had gone to bed.

He frowned his way through the three courses, the food warming him after a long day in the dungeons. Minerva drew him into a conversation about Quidditch – she seemed to think that this year was going to be Gryffindors, which he was rather inclined to disagree with, since he had heard all about Slytherins new brooms, courtesy of Lucius Malfoy.

He was sipping his elf-made wine and watching the dancing skeletons perform at the end of the Feast when something caught his attention – or rather, the _lack_ of something caught his attention.

The skeletons were cavorting up and down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, yet he couldn't help but notice that a certain three Gryffindors were conspicuously absent. He remembered what had happened last Halloween with the troll – those three had a talent for trouble. Wherever they were, it was bound to not be good.

Dumbledore dismissed the students after the skeletons had finished performing and they all headed towards the doors in a great, babbling crowd. Most of the staff were giggling, no doubt eager to take the party to the staff-room, where they had stashed several bottles of Ogden's Firewhiskey. The following morning he knew he would be pestered for hang-over relief potions, which he always refused to dispense, just like he was after every event.

Severus waited until most of the students had disappeared through the doors, before quietly leaving his seat and heading down the table towards the Headmaster.

"Headmaster," he said softly, not wanting to attract the attention of the rest of the staff.

"Yes, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, turning in his seat to smile at the young Professor.

"I think something has happened," he said – he was about to elaborate and explain that Potter, Weasley and Hermione Granger had not been at the Feast, but Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes had moved to the doors of the Hall, where groups of students could be seen staring curiously up the marble staircase and whispering to each other.

"You may be right," Dumbledore said, frowning. "Minerva, Severus, come with me." He stood and made his way along the staff-table.

"Are we off somewhere?" Lockhart asked eagerly, jumping up to join the teachers. He swayed a little on his feet, no doubt due to the copious amount of Madame Rosmerta's honey-mead he had consumed during the meal.

Snape and Minerva exchanged sceptical glances, but when Dumbledore didn't comment on the buffoon joining them, neither did they. The Headmaster swept into the Entrance Hall, and up the marble staircase – the teachers were met with a solid wall of whispering students as they entered a second floor corridor, all of them craning their necks.

From ahead of them, Snape heard a familiar voice. "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!" Draco Malfoy shouted. Snape felt a mild disgust; Draco was only twelve years old, he shouldn't have such dangerous ideals so early in life, though with Lucius as a father it was to be expected.

Dumbledore and Minerva looked at one another, and he was surprised to see a trace of apprehension on the older teachers faces. Wordlessly, they began making their way through the crowd.

Draco's voice had been replaced by Flich's – he was shouting hoarsely at someone, accusing them of hurting his cat (vile creature that it was) and threatening to kill them. When they broke through the crowd, he wasn't surprised in the slightest to see that it was Potter that Filch was approaching with outstretched hands and murder in his eyes.

"_Argus!_" Dumbledore said sternly, interrupting the old squibs raving.

Within seconds the Headmaster had detached Mrs Norris's stiff, unmoving body from where she was hanging from a torch bracket – Snape's eyebrows beetled in confusion, wondering what on earth Potter and his friends had done to the cat, when his focus was drawn inexorably upwards.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

"No," he mouthed, staring at the words written in a lurid red on the wall above their heads. He knew the legend of the Chamber of Secrets, everyone did. And if the Chamber was now open ...

"Come with me, Argus," Dumbledore said, holding Mrs Norris's body almost gingerly in his hands. "You too, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley and Miss Granger."

The three children looked at each other uneasily. It was obvious that now none of them was responsible for this; the cat's condition was no doubt due to the opening of the Chamber, magical ability well beyond any second years, which meant only one thing – there was Dark Magic at work in the school.

* * *

The day after Halloween Hermione crept back to the second floor corridor, even though she knew it would not be good for any of them to be found near there again. Most of the students were at dinner so the corridors were largely deserted. She was inherently curious by nature, and she wanted to study the petrification site in more detail – she couldn't help but wonder why the message had been written there of all places.

She peeked around the corner to make sure Filch wasn't there; earlier that morning the rumour that he had placed a chair where Mrs Norris had been petrified and could be found pacing the site and dishing out as many detentions as possible had spread through the school like wildfire, and the students could talk of nothing but the attack.

Fortunately, Filch was nowhere to be seen so Hermione tip-toed down the corridor to where the writing could be found on the wall, still as bright and vivid red as it had been the day before. Placing her bag carefully on the floor, she pulled out her wand and tapped one of the letters, muttering a spell that she had read about in the library under her breath.

"Miss Granger," Professor Snape said from behind her, making her jump and turn around guiltily. "Might I ask what you are doing?"

"Nothing sir," she said, far too quickly.

He raised a suspicious eyebrow at her. "Then why are you tapping the wall with your wand and not in the Great Hall eating dinner?"

She glanced from him to the wall, wondering what she should tell him – she decided on the truth.

"I wanted to see if there were any traces of Dark Magic in the words, I thought it might lead to some clues about the Chamber's existence," she said, shifting from one foot to the other.

He frowned at her. "That is magic that students are not taught until forth year."

"I read about it, sir," she admitted.

He looked at her speculatively. "Then rest assured that this entire area was thoroughly searched last night, the teachers found no evidence of magic of any kind."

Appeased, she knelt down to stash her wand back in her bag.

"Miss Granger," Professor Snape said, making her look up. He appeared to choose his words carefully. "I do not believe either you or your companions actually had anything to do with last nights' events, yet I would urge you to exercise caution; it would not be wise for any of you to be found near the scene of the crime, so to speak."

"I understand, sir," she said, nodding.

"Then I suggest you return to the Great Hall."

She picked up her school-bag and stood up. "And Miss Granger," Professor Snape said, getting her attention once more.

"Yes sir?"

"As a muggle-born, you are in greater danger than other students," he said seriously. "You should be careful."

"You believe the Chamber really does exist then, Professor?" she asked curiously.

He looked at her gravely for a long moment, his black eyes ambivalent. "Yes, I do."

"But sir -"

"Go down to dinner, Miss Granger," he interrupted. "Do not concern yourself in this - you will end up hurt," he said briskly, before turning and sweeping away down the corridor.

Hermione stared after him until he was out of sight. Instead of going to the Great Hall she turned in the opposite direction towards the Library to research the legend of the Chamber of Secrets.

* * *

A week later Hermione reached the pinnacle of frustration – it seemed every single student had the same idea as her in taking out copies of _Hogwarts: A History_ to look up the legend, and now there was a two week waiting list. She wished she hadn't left her copy at home, but it hadn't fitted in her trunk with all her books for Defence against the Dark Arts. No other books in the library held any relevant information whatsoever.

Adding to her annoyance, Ron was badgering her to help with an essay that was in for the following lesson, one that he had ten days to finish. Refusing to help, he nagged her all the way to History of Magic, leaving her tense and irritable when they reached the classroom.

Professor Binns began his lecture, and as usual the boys refused to take any notes. Even Hermione wasn't focusing entirely on the subject matter, her mind was full of the Chamber of Secrets.

Frustrated by her lack of progress in researching the legend, she decided that a more direct approach was necessary. She stuck her hand in the air, startling Professor Binns from his usually uninterrupted monologue. "Miss – er -"

"Granger Professor," she said in a clear voice. "I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets."

* * *

Snape was fuming as he dismissed his second year class - _someone_ (and he had a pretty good idea who, he wasn't one of the greatest legimens in the world for nothing) had thrown a firework into the Swelling Solution, causing mayhem in his classroom. Of course there was no way he would ever be able to prove it, since the Ministry would disapprove if they knew he was using legimency on students, and Dumbledore would no doubt not hear a word against the Golden boy of Gryffindor.

He stalked out of the classroom towards his office - and then paused, noticing that his wards were down_. _He_ always_ remembered to set his wards, which meant someone had broken into his office.

Pulling out his wand he cast a _Homo Revelio _spell, and once he had ascertained that there was no one inside he slowly pushed open the door, keeping his wand in hand nevertheless – there were still people out there who would wish him harm from his Death Eater days.

Everything in his office seemed to be in its usual place, which meant that whoever had dismantled his wards had done so to access his private stores; this had happened several times before, students using his ingredients to attempt to brew illicit mixtures.

Doing a quick inventory of his stores, he scowled when he discovered that a large quantity of powdered bicorn horn had gone missing, as well as a boomslang skin. Both were extremely expensive ingredients used in humanitarian potions – the kind that changed a person physically, like aging potions or polyjuice; the kind of potions that were banned in school.

He would have to report the theft to Dumbledore, but unless the culprits could be found in possession of an illegal potion there would be nothing he could do.

* * *

Very few people in the world knew that Severus Snape suffered from chronic insomnia; he was well known for patrolling the corridors at all hours of the night, looming up from the shadows on miscreant students who were out of bed.

Since before the fall of the Dark Lord he had difficulty falling asleep, or would periodically jerk awake obscenely early, his limbs drenched in cold sweat from nightmares. He had found, in his long years teaching, that pacing the school helped him to rest better – if he couldn't get to sleep at first, a few hours of patrolling would tire him out and if he woke early then the walk would help him forget the terrors that crept up on him in sleep.

Unfortunately for him, for the students he terrorised and for the teachers who put up with his sniping, he woke up on Christmas morning in a foul mood bought on by his recurring nightmares. Christmas was never a happy time for him; he couldn't remember one he had ever enjoyed – certainly not when he had been at home before Hogwarts with his parents, and Lily had always gone back to her house for the holidays, leaving him alone at the school.

He rolled to one side, grabbing a pocket watch from his bedside table and lighting his wand. Five thirty, he saw in the light from the wand-tip. That meant he had barely two and a half hours sleep, having fallen into bed from patrolling at three o'clock.

Knowing he wouldn't find any more sleep tonight, he sat up and lit the lamps in his room with a single flick of his wand. In the sudden glow, he spotted a small pile at the foot of his bed – he glared at the presents for a long minute, seriously debating whether or not to simply set them on fire, and then sighed, resigning himself to opening them. His colleges would expect some recognition of their gifts.

Dumbledore sent his tradition gift of quirky socks and a stash of liquorice wands, the only type of sweet he actually enjoyed. Minerva too was predictable in getting him a potions book – pity he had the edition already. Poppy Pomfrey had knitted him a scarf, black with a hint of silver thread running through it and the rest of the staff had sent cards.

Well, not all of them – at the very bottom of the small pile was a rectangular package wrapped garishly in pink with gold ribbon, a jaunty _Merry Christmas_ written on it in Lockart's curlicue writing. Not wanting to touch the gift (he felt he might have to disinfect his hand if it came into contact with that much _pink_) he tapped it with his wand and watched as the ribbon and paper unwrapped itself to reveal a copy of Lockart's biography, _Magical Me_.

His lip curling in disgust, he levitated the book and its gaudy wrapping paper off his bed and sent it hurtling into the fire that was smouldering in the grate. Watching the flames lick at the book and the photographic Lockhart scream and scramble from the picture brightened his mood considerably.

Leaving his gifts at the end of the bed, he got up and started to dress – a few rounds of patrolling at five in the morning never hurt anyone after all.

As he walked though the living room of his chambers, he cast a glance to the coffee table where he had left his own gifts to his colleges, along with instructions for a house-elf to dispatch them, pleased to note that they had been delivered.

Every year he gave each member of staff the same present – a single vial of hangover cure. They were highly coveted among the teachers, since he refused to dispense cures after any of the staff parties. He knew several members of staff would sell theirs on to the more indulgent professors. It was his own recipe, far more advanced than the brands that could be bought commercially. He could probably make a fortune if he sold the patents.

After lacing his boots he headed out of his quarters, automatically erecting the wards behind him. The school was dark and cold this early in the morning, but he was warm under the layers of his robes. He did a routine check of the Slytherin common room, vanishing the obvious remains of a Christmas party that several of the older students had thrown the previous night, and then carried on out of the dungeons via a small passage that would take him to a side door of the Great Hall. The Great Hall too was deserted, a light smattering of snow falling from the ceiling only to fade before it touched the tables. Walking silently, he ascended the marble staircase to the second floor – and then halted.

He sniffed – there it was again, he wasn't imagining it.

He could smell polyjuice potion.

* * *

It was still dark when Hermione's alarm went off; she had set it early so she could do the finishing touches to the potion. Even though her dormitory was empty, everyone else having gone home for the Christmas holidays, she quickly turned off her alarm and sat up.

She opened her presents by the light of her wand, smiling over the boys' gifts of sweets and Hagrid's assortment of his own homemade toffee. Her parents had sent her a collection of muggle books by her favourite writers, including Wilde, Gaskell, Austen and Poe. Along with the loving letter they had attached, they had sent several cards from her relations (who didn't know she was a witch, and thought she was attending a normal boarding school) wishing her a Merry Christmas, some of them including a little spending money.

Humming to herself, she got dressed and grabbed _Moste Potente Potions_, along with the last of the lacewing flies. With any luck the potion should be ready for them to use tonight. There was no need for secrecy as she walked down to the common room – no one would be awake at six in the morning on Christmas day – but she had to be more careful once she was in the corridors, since students weren't supposed to leave their common rooms for breakfast until seven o'clock at the earliest. She thought briefly about borrowing Harry's invisibility cloak, but then dismissed the idea as she climbed out of the portrait hole; the school was practically deserted for Christmas anyway.

She didn't see anyone as she walked through the corridors. Most of the portraits were sleeping, though once or twice she spotted several pictures clustered into one frame, giggling and drinking, obviously still having a Christmas party from the night before. None of them paid any attention to her.

She reached the second floor corridor and pushed open Moaning Myrtle's bathroom door – and nearly screamed, dropping the book and lacewing flies to the floor.

Professor Snape was down on one knee, bending over her small cauldron to examine the illegal potion inside. He looked up when she came in and frowned at her.

"Miss Granger, I might have guessed," he said, straightening to his full, imposing height and crossing his arms.

"Good morning, Professor," she said quickly, bending down to pick up her dropped items and wondering if she would be able to talk her way out of this. "I was just going to use the bathroom on my way to the, uh, library – but I can use another one instead."

She was about to flee, but his voice stopped her.

"Don't even bother trying, Miss Granger," he said in what sounded like a deadly voice.

"Trying, sir?" she squeaked, her back pressed against the bathroom door, even though he hadn't moved from the other side of the bathroom.

"You've been caught red-handed," he nodded to the book and ingredients in her hands. "Now tell me, why exactly are you brewing polyjuice potion?"

_I'm so going to be expelled for this_, she thought desperately, trying her best to think of something to say.

Snape narrowed his eyes at her. "Bear in mind, Miss Granger, that the truth is probably the best course of action for you right now," he said, as if he could tell she was trying to think of a lie.

There was a long silence. She took a few deep breaths, looking everywhere but his onyx eyes. "We wanted to get into the Slytherin common room," she said quietly.

"We?" Snape asked delicately, making her look up in panic as she realised what she had said. "Ah yes, no doubt Mr Potter and Mr Weasley are also involved in this."

She bit her lip, which was enough to confirm their guilt too him.

"Pray tell, why exactly were you trying to enter the Slytherin common room?" he asked with his characteristic smirk. "I doubt you would go to the trouble of brewing a complex, illegal potion if it was simply a whimsical desire to see how the other half live."

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Suddenly, their reasons for making the potion seemed very foolish.

"I'm waiting, Miss Granger," he said with a bite of impatience in his voice.

"We wanted to find the Heir of Slytherin," she said in a very small voice. "After something that Malfoy said to me, we thought he might know something ..." she trailed off as his expression turned murderous.

Professor Snape took a step towards her, seeming far angrier for her reasoning than he did about the potion itself. "Did I not specifically order you not to go poking around for information on the Chamber?" he whispered in a quiet voice that was somehow far worse than a shout, making her cringe further against the door. "Did I not also tell you that you are in far more danger than others because of your blood status? What on earth made you think that second year students could take it upon themselves to investigate matters of dark magic?"

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, her expression stark.

The anger seemed to drain out of him then and he looked distantly past her to the corner of the bathroom. "Gryffindors are renowned for finding trouble," he said to himself in a low voice.

He sighed, coming out of whatever reverie had caught him momentarily. He gave her a bleak look and then knelt down again, looking into the cauldron where the potion was bubbling thickly. He picked up the stirring rod from beside the cauldron and skimmed the bubbling surface, bringing the rod closer to his face to inspect the potion. "You know Miss Granger, I sometimes think you were put in the wrong House." He looked up at her, "After all, I'm assuming it was you who broke into my office two weeks ago."

Hermione swallowed guiltily.

"I thought as much," he said, noting the movement. "Those ingredients were expensive."

She didn't say anything, knowing that it was very unlikely she would be able to afford to pay him back.

"Very few Gryffindors would have come up with a plan this underhanded, not to mention spectacularly illegal," he continued, "most would simply have charged straight into the Slytherin common room - your House isn't known for its subtlety after all."

"Are you going to punish us, sir?" she asked cautiously, ignoring the slights against her House.

He put the stirring rod back down, straightened once more and eyed her beadily. "The potion is of adequate quality, so I shall make you a deal – one that it would be _very_ unwise of you to refuse, since I could simply confiscate the potion and report your actions to Dumbledore. While you might barely escape expulsion, Potter and Weasley most certainly wouldn't after that debacle with the flying car."

"I'm listening," she said quickly.

"I can recoup the cost of the ingredients you stole by selling the potion to an apothecary I know in Knockturn Alley, not to mention making a tidy profit on the side," he said, smirking a little. "However, I too am curious about the goings on in my House – I don't like the unnecessary slander that this 'Heir of Slytherin' business has caused. So after your little jaunt into the Slytherin common room, you will give what remains of the potion to me and report anything of importance that you discover – do you understand?"

Hermione quickly closed her mouth, which had been hanging open in shock. That was a very generous offer. She nodded.

Snape held out his hand and she took a few timid steps forward to take it.

"Can I ask why, sir?" she said, slipping her hand into his much larger one to shake. His fingers felt surprisingly warm, wrapped around her own tiny ones.

"Why?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Why you're making this deal and not simply punishing us," she clarified.

She thought she saw the tiniest hint of a smile on his face as he released her hand and said, "Let's just say I am sufficiently impressed enough to let this one slide. To expel a student who can make polyjuice potion in their second year would be a waste of potential, even if they do have the audacity to break into my private stores – which, you will never, _ever_ do again," he added with a venomous glare.

She suppressed a smile at the back-handed compliment. "Understood, sir."

He gave her a single, curt nod and stepped around her to stalk out of the bathroom. He paused at the door and looked over his shoulder at her. "And Miss Granger – fifty points from Gryffindor for being out of your dormitory before curfew is lifted," he said as he left, allowing the bathroom door to swing shut behind him.

Once he was gone she expelled a long breath, thanking her lucky stars that he hadn't punished them – fifty points was nothing really, considering all three of them could have been expelled.

"Merry Christmas to you too, sir," she said quietly to herself, kneeling down where he had to add the lacewing flies, a rather silly smile on her face – she couldn't help but think that despite all of the mean comments students made about him, Professor Snape was actually a reasonable man underneath his sarcastic demeanour.

She wondered briefly if she should tell the boys about Snape discovering them as she stirred the lacewings into the potion (eight clockwise stirs, then two and a half counter clockwise) but decided against it – they wouldn't understand why he had spared their punishment, and would think he had an underhanded motive. No, she would keep this to herself and not say a word about Snape when she went to wake the boys – and with any luck, by tonight this would all be over with.

* * *

As always, floo-calls tended to come at the worst possible moment. The potion was at its critical stage when he sensed the fireplace in his living room activate, a moment later he heard Poppy's voice calling him. "Severus? Are you there?"

"Give me a minute," he called back, not missing a beat with his stirring. He knew that if it was a dire emergency Poppy would have sent her patronus, not floo-called.

After stirring a further twenty-seven times, adding a pinch of dragon claw and then another thirty-two counter-clockwise stirs, he placed the stirring rod on the worktop and headed through to his living room.

Poppy's head was sat in the middle of the fire, looking rather agitated.

"Severus, I'd like your advice on something – I've got a student here, I think they were trying human Transfiguration, could you come and take a look? I think I course of potions would be better than simply transfiguring her back to normal."

"Is the change really that deep?" he asked in surprise, since potions would be a far more intensive course of action.

"It seems that way, whatever spell she used was very invasive to her body. I've never seen anything like it," Poppy said worriedly.

"She?" he questioned, instantly guessing who the student might be.

"Hermione Granger," she said, confirming his suspicions. "She's only in her second year, so why she was attempting human transfiguration is beyond me -"

"I'll be right there," Snape said, interrupting her.

She smiled warmly. "Thank you Severus, I hate to ask this of you on Christmas day but the poor girl is miserable."

He snorted to himself as her head vanished with a small pop – he didn't exactly have jovial Christmas plans after all; in fact he had been planning on keeping his yearly tradition of brewing after the feast and then getting drunk on fire-whisky in the pleasant solitude of his quarters once he had finished whatever potion had taken his fancy.

Nevertheless, he returned to his laboratory and shrugged into his outer robes, which he had shed during brewing and left on a chair before heading towards the hospital wing.

Pushing the ward doors open, he noticed an extra curtain had been added around one of the beds, along with the ones surrounding the petrified students. Probably hearing the door, Poppy appeared from behind the curtain and hurried towards him, wringing her hands a little.

"Thank you for coming, Severus," she said. "I'm at my wits end – she won't tell me anything, and neither would her friends so I sent them away. Heaven knows what those children were up to, and how she ended up in this state."

He felt he had a pretty good idea.

"Will you let me examine her, Poppy?"

"Certainly – you don't mind if I leave quickly do you?" she asked, glancing back at the curtain that concealed Hermione. "I need to talk to Minerva. She was going to contact her parents, but Miss Granger is adamant that they know nothing about this."

"Of course," he said, feeling relieved since he wouldn't be able to say anything about the polyjuice potion with Poppy present.

"Thank you, Severus," she said, pressing his hand warmly. "And do try not to upset her, she is very emotional and embarrassed right now." She cast him another smile and bustled out of the hospital wing.

He waited until the door swung shut behind her before approaching the curtain that surrounded the bed. "Miss Granger?" he called, letting her know he was there.

"Professor Snape?" she squeaked back, sounding highly shocked. "Please don't come in!" she added in a panicked voice.

"Well, I was going to help you change back to your normal self, but if you don't want my assistance ..." he trailed off with a smirk. There was a long pause.

"Do you really think you can help me?" she asked eventually in a very small, pathetic sounding voice. "Madame Pomfrey had no idea what to do."

"Madame Pomfrey is not a Potions Master, nor does she know that whatever you have done to yourself is a result of polyjuice potion," he said frankly. "This is my area of expertise, but I will need to see what you have done to yourself if I am to help."

He heard a sigh. "I suppose you can come in then," she said in a forlorn voice. From the way she was speaking anyone would think the world was about to end.

Sweeping back the curtain, he took one look at her – and promptly started laughing.

She was a cat. A genuine, furry cat, complete with tufty ears protruding out of her bushy hair and angled pupils looking at him reproachfully.

"You're laughing at me?" she said, displaying teeth that were rather more pointed than her usual bucked ones.

He really couldn't help himself – he hardly ever laughed at _anything_, but the sight of her _tail _poking out from one side of her bed sheets and whipping around in agitation was simply too much. She frowned as he continued to chuckle, the expression looking rather strange on a cat face. "I don't think I've ever heard you laugh before," she said, tilting her head to one side.

No, she probably hadn't, he thought, gaining control of his laughter and folding himself into the chair beside her hospital bed. He was the bat of the dungeons after all, he wasn't exactly known for having a sense of humour. "How on earth did you confuse a cat hair with a human one?" he asked, smirking widely at her.

She sighed – rather theatrically for a cat. "For your information, it was a very long haired cat and a very short haired girl."

"I see," he said, examining her yellow eyes.

"So do you think there is anything you can do?" she asked, peeking shyly up at him. "This must have happened before, right?"

"There are records of several people who have made the same mistake – or done it intentionally, depending on how stupid they were," he said, feigning indifference.

"_And?_" she prompted desperately.

"And ... I know of several potions that have been developed to counteract the transformation," he finished, putting her out of her misery.

She sighed with relief, closing her eyes and slumping back against her pillow. He watched her for a moment, studying the change the potion had caused. "I'll need to do some research to find the method, and after that it is a fairly long brewing process. You will be like this for a few weeks at least," he informed her, wondering if she would be made to attend her classes anyway – but given that she was several months ahead of her peers, Professor McGonagall might show her some lenience.

"It's my own fault, I suppose," she said despondently, fiddling with the bedspread; he noticed her hands now sported claws instead of fingernails.

"I won't argue with you there," he said bluntly. "Polyjuice potion is banned in school for a reason."

She looked so dejected that he found himself in the very odd position of wanting to offer her some form of comfort. "Though if it's any consolation, the potion would have had to be of rather high quality to have achieved this result with an animal hair."

"It's not exactly a consolation, sir," she said.

"It should be," he said gruffly. "Polyjuice is a NEWT level potion, not to mention illegal and expensive to make."

"You'll be able to find the rest of the potion in the bathroom sir," she said, and then looked up into his face. "And – err – thanks again for not punishing us."

"I think this is punishment enough," he said, gesturing to her furry face. "I trust you've learnt your lesson not to go dabbling in banned potions."

She nodded, though there was the smallest hint of a smile on her face.

"I must ask, Miss Granger," he said, folding his hands together. "Did you discover anything in the Slytherin common room?"

Hermione shook her head. "They didn't know anything, they all want to know who the Heir is."

He sighed, "It's as I suspected."

"What do you mean, sir?"

He stood up to leave. "That the Heir of Slytherin is not a Slytherin," he said, leaving Hermione baffled.

* * *

The day of the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff Quidditch game dawned bright and clear, with perfect conditions for a match. Having no desire to watch a game that his House wasn't participating in, Snape headed towards the library, thinking he could get some research done on the Mandrake Restoration Draught he was developing without the students loitering between the shelves or giggling at tables whist pretending to work. He had looked over the original recipe, finding it to be old and outdated, and so was working on enhancing the potion through more modern potion methods.

He was so deep in thought about how the quantities of the ingredients could be altered that he wasn't paying much attention to where his feet were taking him. He rounded a corner and cursed as he tripped over something in his path.

"_No_," he whispered, looking down at the two bodies stretched out before him.

He bent down to examine Hermione, her eyes wide open and glassy – petrified, not dead. Miss Clearwater was in the same condition; another double attack. Both of them muggle-borns.

Drawing his wand he muttered a quick incantation, watching as an achingly familiar silver doe leapt from his wand and bounded towards the hospital wing to inform Poppy. Sitting back on his haunches, he stared at the two girls with a frown. Hermione was clutching a tiny mirror in her small hand; reaching forward, he gently prised it from her fingers, trying to ignore how waxy and cold her skin felt as he brushed against it. He turned the mirror over in his fingers, waiting for Poppy to arrive. She had been using it to look around the corner when she had been petrified ...

_What does this mean?_ He thought desperately.

* * *

Within a few weeks spring had blended seamlessly into summer, meaning that the Mandrakes would soon be ready for cutting. New security had been issued around the castle and so teachers had to escort students to and from classes. There had been no fresh attacks, but there was still a veil of tension covering the school.

With Dumbledore gone, Snape felt surprisingly ... discomforted. He had always internally complained about the old coot – sometimes even to his face – but the Headmaster was a part of the school and a powerful wizard; if anyone could find the source of dark magic in the castle it would have been him.

He was reluctant to admit it, but there was another facet to his uneasiness – he had always hated teaching the second year Gryffindors and Slytherins, having to deal with Potter, Longbottom's catastrophic potions and Hermione Granger's incessant hand waving whenever he posed a question to the class. But now, he found her empty seat disquieting – he would ask a question and, for once, _no one would answer_.

After a week of Dumbledore's absence and having to shepherd students around the castle, his temper reached boiling point.

He was prowling between the desks of his classroom while his seventh year NEWT class concocted veritaserum, a particularly fiddly and difficult potion, when suddenly thick blue smoke filled the dungeon.

"Idiot boy!" he snarled, drawing his wand and vanishing the potion with a single flick – that was a third of the marks for the entire year that the boy had just lost in destroying his potion. He was one of the more intelligent boys of the class, he had a sterling grasp of the theory but often didn't perform as well as he should in the practical's.

"I'm sorry, sir," he stuttered, still coughing from the smoke that lingered in the air. "I don't know what went wrong."

"One of my _second years_ could have brewed this potion better than you," he growled at the boy, while the rest of the class cowered in silence. "And I would get her to show you precisely how it's done, if she wasn't -" he abruptly broke off, realising what he was saying.

"You will write an essay detailing exactly how and why you failed this assignment, two rolls of parchment at least – if I am satisfied, you may be able to recoup a few of your coursework marks for this practical," he hissed, towering over the boy. "The rest of you get back to work."

His composure was shaken once again as he taught his second year class – Draco had made some comment about him becoming Headmaster instead of McGonagall. He had smirked and told the boy that Dumbledore's suspension was merely temporary, but he was reeling a little inside. He knew that Albus intended for him to take the Headmaster-ship in the distant future, but now the future seemed to be looming up fast.

Brushing aside the rest of Malfoy's cajoling, he made a studious effort to ignore Miss Grangers empty seat, but his back stiffened when he heard the young boy loudly proclaim that he wished it had been her that had died.

_Don't react_, he said to himself.

Later that evening he was working in his lab when Poppy floo-called him once again; Pomona had told him at dinner that the Mandrakes could be harvested tomorrow and so he was working on the base of the Restorative Draught. Casting a statis-charm over the potion, he went to answer her.

"Severus, I've got a student here who has managed to scorch himself with a misplaced _incendio _and I'm all out of burn-paste," she told him. "You wouldn't happen to have any in stock would you?"

He nodded. "I'll bring it up, I need to talk to you about the Restoration Draught anyway," he said gruffly.

Five minutes later he was entering the Hospital-wing, burn-paste in hand. As Poppy came to retrieve it from him he noticed a sixth year perched on one of the far beds, one arm red and blistered. The rest of the beds were empty, except the ones with curtains surrounding the petrified victims.

"Thank you Severus," she said, taking the jar. "Now what's this about the Restoration Draught?"

"Only that the Mandrakes will be culled tomorrow, so you should be able to revive the victims in the evening," he said plainly.

Poppy smiled happily. "That is good news," she said, squeezing his arm slightly. "Could you come and help me to administer the potion to them? An extra pair of hands would be most useful."

He nodded once more.

"In that case, I'll leave you to get back to your brewing," she said in her motherly voice. "Besides, I need to see to Mr Adams over here."

She smiled once more, and then bustled down to where the burnt young boy sat miserably cradling his arm, pulling the curtain closed around them. Out of her sight, Snape slowly approached a single bed, surrounded by a curtain. He pulled the curtain back and looked briefly at Hermione, still in the exact same position he had found her in, her brown eyes vacant.

"I told you not to get hurt, you foolish Gryffindor," he said softly, before closing the curtain once more and leaving the hospital wing.

* * *

A dark cloud of misery hung over the school the following day. A student – a _first year_ – had been taken by the monster into the Chamber itself. It didn't make any sense; Ginny Weasley was a pure-blood so there was no reason for her to have been targeted.

It was enough, however – the school was going to be closed.

Snape wondered if he was selfish to be thinking about himself at a time like this, but he couldn't help but brood on the grimness of Spinners End, the only other place he had to go. Much as he proclaimed to despise Hogwarts School of Mischief and Misery, it had been his home from his very first day as an eleven year old and his sanctuary from the moment Dumbledore offered him an escape from his darker days.

He went up to the Hospital Wing with the Restoration Draught in hand. The corridors were deserted; all the students had been confined to the safety of their House common rooms, until the Hogwarts Express could come to take them home. Pushing open the doors of the Hospital Wing, he found Poppy crying in her office.

"Oh!" she said in surprise, seeing him hesitating at her office door and frantically wiping her eyes. "I was – I was just -"

"It's alright, Poppy," he said, stepping forward to lay a tentative hand on her shoulder – the only proper comfort he felt he could give.

A fresh tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek. "I'm sorry, Severus, but I just – I can't stand it! That poor girl ..."

"I know," he said as soothingly as he could. "But right now you need to be strong, for the other students."

"You're right," she said, taking a deep breath, whipping her eyes once more and standing up. "You have the Draught?"

He held it up.

"Then let's get started," the Matron said stoically, the remains of tears still visible on her cheeks.

They began with Mrs Norris, wanting to see how the potion worked to reverse the petrification before administering it to humans. A few seconds after dripping the potion into her mouth, Mrs Norris yowled, twisted and shot off the bed, darting towards the doors as fast as she could.

Taking this as an encouraging sign, they moved on to the first of the victims – Colin Creevey. The boy blinked and moaned after the potion was administered, obviously confused and disoriented as his sight returned. He struggled to sit up, but Poppy made him stay still by placing a hand over his shoulder.

"Easy now," she said gently. "How do you feel?"

"Okay, I think," the little boy said, raising a hand to touch his head. "What happened?"

"You were petrified," the Matron explained, looking into his eyes and checking his pulse – from the relieved smile she shot at him, Severus guessed she was satisfied with both. "What do you remember?"

"I don't know," he said, looking highly confused. "It was dark and then – I remember yellow eyes."

"Yellow eyes?" Snape asked – could it be that the students weren't petrified by a spell from the Heir, but by some sort of creature? It would make sense, since the legend told that there was a monster in the Chamber – but he had never heard of a beast with the power to petrify it's victims.

Colin Creevey nodded vigorously, and then suddenly seemed to think of something. "How long have I been here?"

Snape and Poppy exchanged a brief look. "You were petrified in November, it's now the middle of May," she explained, while Colin looked aghast.

After calming him down and talking to him for a few minutes more, Madame Pomfrey left him to rest and they moved on to the next petrified victim. Over the next few hours the revived each student, soothing their agitation when they realised what had happened. Interestingly enough, all of them reported seeing yellow eyes, and then could remember no more.

They were explaining to a distressed Penelope Clearwater that extenuating circumstances would be applied to her OWL exams and they were about to move on to reviving Hermione Granger, who was the last petrified victim, when the Hospital Wing doors burst open once more.

Snape blinked in surprise as Arthur and Molly Weasley entered, both of them fussing and stroking their daughter as they walked – Ginny Weasley looked very pale, dirty and wet, but was very obviously _alive_.

Poppy leapt up and hurried over. "Oh my poor dear girl, are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?" She and her parents helped the young, clearly bewildered girl onto one of the beds and Poppy bustled about checking her pupils and pulse. "What happened to you?"

"Umm," Ginny said eloquently as the Matron took her pulse – the girls' parents stood slightly to one side, both of them looking very shaken with tear tracks on their cheeks.

"Severus, can you see to Miss Granger?" Poppy said over her shoulder to where Snape was still standing, not having moved since the Weasley's had stormed in.

He nodded and approached Hermione's bed. He gently dripped the potion between her slightly parted lips, and waited the long seconds for it to take effect. She groaned, blinked – and then sat up straight, her eyes wild.

"Easy," Snape said, grabbing her shoulders before she could get off the bed – none of the other victims had such a violent reaction to being revived.

"I was petrified, wasn't I?" she said, looking around and registering that she was in the hospital wing.

"Yes, but your safe now," he said, letting go of her shoulders.

"Sir – the creature, in the Chamber – it's a basilisk!" she said urgently.

"A basilisk?" he repeated, frowning. Basilisk's hadn't been seen in England for thousands of years. Besides, no one survived an encounter with a basilisk.

Hermione was frantically checking her skirt pockets. "I had a piece of paper from the library – everything fitted, so I was looking around corners with a mirror – that's why I didn't die when I saw it -"

"Miss Granger, calm down," Snape said, seizing her hands so she would stop searching. She had looked around the corner with a mirror, which would mean that she had only seen the basilisk's reflection – perhaps its deathly glare would only induce petrification if it wasn't looked at directly.

"But sir, we need to speak to Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione was near frantic now. "The Heir of Slytherin must be a parselmouth, and that's how he controls the basilisk -"

"It's dead," Ginny Weasley piped up from the bed opposite.

"Excuse me?" Snape said, surprised by this interruption.

"Harry killed it," Ginny said, a slight blush appearing on her cheeks. "Ron and Harry found the entrance to the Chamber."

"Then who was the Heir of Slytherin?" Snape demanded of the girl – despite himself, a small bubble of hope had flared in his chest; if the Heir was captured and the monster was dead then the school would stay open.

"Tom Riddle," Ginny said, shuddering visibly.

Snape was silent – stunned. Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord.

"The one who owned the diary Harry found?" Hermione asked, frowning.

Ginny looked ashamed. "I was writing in the diary all year. You-know-who was able to control me though it."

"What do you mean by you-know-who? What's he got to do with it?" Hermione said, for the first time looking mildly confused.

"The Dark Lord was once known by the name Tom Riddle," Snape said, feeling nauseated that his power could extend so far after his own defeat. "He fashioned himself a new name after he left school."

"That's what Professor Dumbledore said," Ginny nodded.

"Dumbledore's back?" he asked sharply, feeling the bubble in his chest swell and grow.

"Now now, that's enough of that," Poppy said, reprimanding his sharp tone and bustling back over with a hot chocolate that she pressed into Ginny Weasley's hands. "You've been through an ordeal, you need _rest_, girl."

"Might we have a little privacy, Madame Pomfrey?" Arthur said, while Molly stroked her daughters hair.

"Certainly," the Matron said. "Just make sure she drinks that – marvellous medicinal cure, hot chocolate."

The Weasley's concealed themselves behind the curtain, no doubt having a private family moment, and Poppy came over to Snape and Hermione to check her vitals.

"Now, how do you feel?" the Matron asked imperiously.

"I – fine, I think – but it's really over?" Hermione said, a little bewildered.

"It would seem so," Snape said, internally wondering if Miss Weasley had actually been speaking the truth when she said Potter had killed a basilisk.

"And how long have I been here?" she asked, looking from one to the other.

"Only a few weeks, it's the middle of May now so -"

"Merlin, it's _May?_" she shrieked, trying to get out of bed once again – Snape stopped her once more by grapping her shoulders. "But the _exams _– I haven't done any revision -"

"Then you shall have to be tested on what you actually know, instead of your short term memory," he said a little snidely, letting go of her.

"But -"

"No buts," Madame Pomfrey intervened sternly. "From what I have heard about your intellectual prowess, Miss Granger, you could have sat your second year exams at the end of your first year."

Hermione's face fell and she bit her lip, not seeming to hear the praise or truth in Poppy's words.

Fortunately, any further panic over the exams was prevented by the sudden arrival of Ronald Weasley and Lockhart – both of them looking even dirtier and more dishevelled than Ginny did.

"Hermione!" Weasley yelled, running over. Snape stepped back as he tackled the young girl in a fierce hug, pinning her briefly to the bed as she laughed and grinned. He too then leapt back, his ears reddening as he realised what he had just done. "I'm – err – very glad you're okay," he said, a little bashfully.

"Thanks Ron!" Hermione said, smiling up at her friend.

"If you're quite done ..." Snape intoned, a hint of a threat in his voice; Weasley took another step back from Hermione's bed, looking both contrite and a little annoyed. "Perhaps you would like to explain what happened to _him_," he said, giving Lockhart a hard look. The buffoon was currently gazing around the ward with vacant interest.

"Funny old castle this, isn't it?" he said, addressing the small group by the bed. "A school, a hospital, underground caverns ..."

Snape turned to Weasley and raised an eyebrow.

"Dumbledore told me to bring him here. Memory charm backfired," he said, holding up his broken wand apologetically. "He stole my wand in the Chamber and tried to _obliviate _me and Harry."

"Oh _dear_," Poppy said, rushing forward to take Lockhart by the arm and lead him to a bed.

"So you and Harry were actually in the Chamber?" Hermione asked, her full attention on Ronald. "How on earth did you find the entrance?"

"With your help, of course!" he said earnestly, digging in his pocket for a grubby piece of paper. It appeared to have been torn from a library book – evidently the very piece of paper she had been searching for moments earlier. "Moaning Myrtle's bathroom – who would have thought it?"

"I knew there had to be a reason the messages were written there," she said, taking the paper from him.

"Never mind that now though," Weasley said, nonchalantly waving aside months of tension and misery. "Are you coming to the feast?"

"Feast?"

"Dumbledore's throwing a feast, to celebrate!" he said, gesturing widely.

"Where exactly is the Headmaster?" Snape asked, breaking into their reunion.

"He was in Professor McGonagall's office, sir," Ronald said, seeming to remember he was there.

"In that case, I shall go and find him." He nodded curtly to Hermione, who smiled back, and left the Hospital Wing with his black robes billowing. He found himself feeling ... relieved ... that she was going to be alright.

* * *

The feast that evening was definitely one to go down in history. Having been roused from their dormitories with the excellent news that the school was staying open and the Chamber was closed for good, everyone was in their pyjamas celebrating.

After what had felt like an agonising wait, Madame Pomfrey announced that all of the petrified victims had a clean bill of health and that they can go down to join the feasting. Ron had already gone on ahead, so Hermione hurried down the marble staircase towards the Great Hall as fast as she could.

Reaching the doors, she paused for a moment, looking out over the celebrations with a smile.

"Harry, there she is!" she heard Ron say. Following his voice, she saw her two best friends – both of them still inexplicably filthy – and her smile turning to a full grin.

"You solved it! You solved it!" she said, running up to them and pulling Harry into a huge hug.

"Well, we had loads of help from you," Harry said modestly, unable to hide a boyish grin.

Releasing him, she turned to Ron – very aware that they had already had their reunion in the Hospital Wing, she wasn't sure what to say.

Ron held out his hand awkwardly. "Good to have you back, Hermione," he said, a little too formally.

"It's good to be back," she said, sitting down at the Gryffindor table with the others.

Once everyone had finished the main course and the desserts had arrived, Dumbledore stood up to make a speech. He told them that the exams were cancelled – much to her distress – and that Professor Lockhart wouldn't be returning to teach – and somehow she wasn't as upset as she thought she would be about that.

After that, he waved a hand to Madame Pomfrey and Professor Sprout, acknowledging all the work they had put in to the Mandrake Restoration Draught.

Though she clapped along with the others, her eyes were drawn to Professor Snape at that point. She knew that he had been the one to actually make the potion, the most difficult part of the process. She found herself thinking that he deserved more credit.

At that moment he caught her eye. She smiled at him as she clapped - a full, unashamed smile, not caring if anyone saw it.

He didn't smile back – instead he blinked, deliberately and slowly, acknowledging her.

And somehow, that was more than enough.

* * *

**Thanks for reading – now how about reviewing? :)**

**And answer me this ... what was your favourite out of all the Harry Potter books and why?**

**Also, I hope everyone had a great Christmas and a very happy new year :)**


	5. Prisoner of Azkaban  Part 1

**Hello everyone – as you could probably tell from the title, this is only the first part of PoA, since the chapter was getting rather too long ...**

**Also, some people (I'm looking at you here, **_**Nymma**_**!) asked which my favourite book was and I would have to say either 3 or 7 :) Simply because I thought they were strongest in plot – the intricacies of the 3 and the way everything is revealed in 7 ... ohhh, Goosebumps! **

**Plus, what do people think of the new title and summary? Any suggestions of how I can change it to attract more readers?**

**Special shout outs to **_**BlondeBlueEyedDreamer, Cerayln, Whenthesnowments **_**and**_** Nymma**_** – your reviews were extra special and really made me smile! Also, **_**GinnyWhetherby**_**, I hope I can continue to live up to your expectations!**

**Enjoy, everyone :) **

* * *

"Damn it, Albus - _how_ could this have happened?" Severus Snape demanded. Having thrown down the newspaper, he was now pacing furiously in front of the Headmaster's desk. The old man was surprisingly calm, taking the time to smooth the creases out of the newspaper before he perused the article, since the young Professor had stalked all the way up to his office with the paper clenched tightly in his fist. He frowned a little as he read, his half-moon spectacles slipping slightly down his crooked nose.

"It is a most unfortunate turn of events, to be sure," Albus said eventually, laying the newspaper flat on his desk.

"Most unfortunate?" Snape repeated scathingly, his mouth twisting bitterly. "Frankly, after the year we just had with the damned Chamber of Secrets, the only thing _worse_ than an escape convict would be the Dark Lord himself rising -"

He stopped himself, noticing how thoughtful Dumbledore looked. Not alarmed or surprised in the slightest.

"You knew about Black's escape already, didn't you?" he surmised, scowling.

"The Minister came himself last night to inform me of the events," Dumbledore said, folding his hands together on the desk.

"And you didn't think to tell me?" Snape snarled.

Albus raised an eyebrow. "You specifically told me at dinner yesterday that you would be brewing a complex potion to show to your sixth-years when they return in September and you were not to be disturbed," he said frankly. "Besides, I wanted to think over the Ministers request."

"Request?"

"He has asked that I allow a host of Dementors to guard the school."

"Why?" Snape said, momentarily surprised out of his ire – Hogwarts was already one of the safest places in Britain ... three-headed dogs, murderous basilisks and a forbidden forest full of deadly creatures aside.

"Can you think of no reason?"

He expelled a long sigh and finally seated himself in the chair in front of Albus' desk. "Potter," he said wearily.

"Precisely," Dumbledore agreed, turning his attention back to the article.

"You think Black has broken out to finish what he started?" Snape asked, his hands unconsciously clenching on the armrests of the chair. _That murdering bastard_ ... he thought, briefly transported into his own dark memories.

"Alas, we cannot know what Sirius Black is thinking," the Headmaster said sadly.

He narrowed his eyes at the old man. "You almost sound like you pity him," he said bitterly.

"I do pity him. I wonder how such a charismatic, charming young man could have done something so evil ..."

Snape made a very inelegant noise of disgust that Dumbledore chose to ignore.

Sirius Black had come from an obscenely wealthy, old family - one that was obsessed with the purity of blood and the subjugation of those they considered_ inferior_. He knew for a fact that the younger brother, Regulus, had been a Death Eater. Though Sirius Black had been in Gryffindor and had associated with muggle-borns, he had proved himself capable of murder at the age of sixteen – a bloody spy, integrating himself with them from the very start.

Really, it was a wonder anyone had _not_ spotted him as the traitor within the Order.

And now he had escaped – Snape's fingers twitched sporadically, envisioning himself being the one to catch Black. The Ministry had offered a handsome reward but he didn't care about the money. He had spent little of his savings and so possessed more than enough for a comfortable lifetime; he had added over twenty years of teaching salary to the trust his Prince grandparents had left him, leaving him with a rather large amount in his Gringotts vault.

No, he wanted _revenge_.

"Now then," the Headmaster said, pulling him out if his reverie."Was there anything else you wished to speak to me about?"

Snape's black eyes flickered upwards and he straightened from his brooding slouch. "The Defence position."

"I see," Dumbledore said with the tiniest hint of weariness in his voice. "You are submitting another application?"

He gave the Headmaster a long, cool look. He had repeatedly applied for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position since arriving at Hogwarts and was always turned down in favour of incompetent idiots who didn't know one end of a wand from the other – literally, in one case, since Lockhart had managed to modify his own memory.

It was rather beginning to grate on his nerves.

"Well, I have one other applicant to interview for the post and I shall let you know immediately once I have made my decision," Dumbledore said.

"Who else has applied?" he asked, raising an eyebrow – people were beginning to whisper that the job was cursed, and consequently there hadn't been a rush of people willing to put their names forward in recent years.

There was a quiet, polite knock on the office door.

"I do believe you are about to find out," Dumbledore said, and then raised his voice slightly. "Come in, Remus."

It had been nearly fifteen years since Snape had seen the man at the door, yet he recognised him instantly. Time hadn't been kind to him; he looked tired, thin and his robes were ragged. There were grey streaks in his sandy hair and shadows under his eyes.

What was Albus thinking, allowing this man to apply for a job just_ hours _after Sirius Black had escaped – he was not only a werewolf, but a bloody _marauder_.

"Sn – I mean, Severus, what are you doing here?" Lupin asked, looking rather surprised as he hovered in the doorway.

Snape turned back to Dumbledore with a furious scowl, ignoring Lupin completely.

"Albus," he said in a deadly whisper. "You can't possibly be serious."

* * *

Hermione waited anxiously by the living room window, looking out onto the street. The letter Professor McGonagall had sent her the day before, requesting permission to visit her in order to discuss her timetable, was clenched tight in her fist. The Professor was due to come at eleven o'clock; she was vividly reminded of a similar morning just over two years ago, when she had waited for Professor Snape to take her to Diagon Alley.

Finally, the clock struck eleven. Between one of the chimes she heard the unmistakable crack of apparition – a few seconds later the doorbell rang.

She ran to the door and smiled at her Head of House, noticing that Professor McGonagall looked rather odd in a muggle dress and coat.

"Good morning, Professor. Won't you come in?" she said, smiling brightly.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said, stepping over the threshold and pausing to remove her coat. Hermione led her Professor through to the lounge and gestured for her to take a seat. Hermione's mother came bustling out of the kitchen to introduce herself, and within a few minutes Professor McGonagall had been supplied with tea and sugar-free biscuits.

"I'll get straight to the point, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said after her mother had returned to the kitchen, settling back in the same chair Professor Snape had once sat in. "I want to discuss your timetable for the coming year with you. I had planned to talk to you about this last term, but due to unforeseen circumstances -" she paused and sniffed a little; Hermione knew she was referring to herself being petrified by a basilisk for most of the summer term. "- I was unable to broach the topic with you."

"What exactly is the problem, Professor?" Hermione asked.

McGonagall drew a folded sheet of parchment from a pocket and consulted it. "You have applied to study every single elective Hogwarts offers," she said. "Miss Granger, there simply aren't enough hours in the day."

"I'm going to have to drop a subject?" she said, utterly crestfallen.

"Unfortunately, yes," she said. "Miss Granger, why do you feel the need to take up Muggle Studies? Forgive me for stating the obvious, but you are Muggle-born."

"But it would be so fascinating to study the Wizarding point of view!" she said eagerly.

"What about Divination?" Professor McGonagall asked briskly. "It is a very imprecise form of magic, not one I could imagine you enjoying, Miss Granger."

"I'm sure a lot of it is guesswork," she admitted. "But I thought that the idea of true seers was so fascinating. I would like to study it, if possible – I'd like to study all of the subjects," she added despondently.

"Hmm," Professor McGonagall said, eying her speculatively. "Well if you are adamant about that, then there may be a way ..."

* * *

A week into the new term, Snape sat behind his desk, marking the essays he had assigned over the summer; he had set his third-years the task of researching the different properties of Shrinking potions over the holidays in preparation of making the potion itself.

After a firm lecture on the different varieties of the potion and running through the method with them, he had set them all to work. The students had been preparing their ingredients for a few minutes when Draco walked in late, his arm still bandaged from the incident in Care of Magical Creatures.

"Settle down, settle down" he said idly from his desk, since several of the Slytherin girls were simpering over Draco and the Gryffindors were muttering mutinously, no doubt because he would have docked fifty points if one of them had walked in late.

Well, he had to make allowances, Draco _was_ injured after all.

Steadily working his way through the pile of essays, he reached Hermione Grangers work. He flipped it over, measuring it with his eyes – it had to be at least half a foot over the prescribed length, despite her miniscule handwriting. Apparently she had learned how to use footnotes in the holidays, something he had never seen in a third year essay. There was even a bibliography.

Her essays were steadily becoming a form of war between them – he would write biting comments on how to improve them, and she would constantly strive to achieve perfection.

He glanced up at her, sitting next to Longbottom whist preparing her ingredients with a focused expression. Despite all his best efforts on the contrary, he now managed to find her ... tolerable. For a student, at least. She may be a Gryffindor and a member of the Golden Trio to boot, but she was clever; her work was engaging to read and she was a fair potion-maker, evidenced last year when she had made a flawless batch of polyjuice potion.

He laid her essay flat on the desk and inked up his quill.

While he had been marking her work (looking his hardest for something to criticize) Malfoy had set up his cauldron on the same table as Potter and Weasley. His drawling voice rang out across the dungeon. "Sir, sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots because of my arm -"

"Weasley, cut up Malfoy's roots for him," he replied, not looking up from Hermione's introduction – she had started with an intriguing comparison to the properties of Aging potions and made a reference Castoll's theory on strengthening Shrinking potions. Interesting.

He had just reached her first paragraph when Malfoy's voice pierced the silence once more. "Professor, Weasley's mutilating my roots, sir."

Suppressing a sigh, he left the essay on his desk and approached their table. Weasley looked guiltily up at him, his knife poised over the roots he had just mauled. Next to him was a small pile of roots that he had obviously spent a lot of time carefully slicing.

Snape smiled unpleasantly. "Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley."

"But sir -!" he interrupted, aghast.

"_Now_," he said, purposefully making his voice dangerous and silky.

Weasley mutinously shoved his roots across the table and took up the knife once more. The tips of his ears had turned red; it was rather amusing to watch really.

"And sir," Malfoy said, his voice full of laughter, "I'll need this Shrivelfig skinned."

"Potter, you can skin Malfoy's Shrivelfig for him," he said, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling he felt when the boy's green eyes flashed indigently.

Leaving the boys to their bickering, he stalked around the classroom, checking the student's progress on their potions. Most of them looked to be at least adequate, though several had failed spectacularly. Parkinson was scowling at the sludgy mess in her cauldron and Crabbe was stirring a potion with the consistency of porridge with an apprehensive look on his gormless face. Even though they would both get poor marks for today's assignment, he didn't call attention their mistakes the way he would have done to humiliate a Gryffindor (there were benefits to being a Head of House, after all).

Turning his gaze to the other side of the classroom, his eyes fell on an easy target. He walked slowly up behind Longbottom, who was haphazardly trying to skin his Shrivelfig. Sensing his presence, the boy froze in fear as he looked down his nose at the appalling potion.

"Orange, Longbottom," he said in a quiet voice that still carried across the classroom. Picking up a ladle, he scooped some of the potion and allowed it to splash back down into the cauldron. "Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours?" he said, having explained the entire process to the class at the start of the lesson. "Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?"

He was interrupted from his glare by a voice piping up beside him. "Please sir," Hermione said, her head tilted beseechingly to one side. "Please, I could help Neville put it right -"

"I don't remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger," he snapped – correcting the potion at this stage would have involved a rather complex combination of temperature modification and the addition of several other ingredients to counteract the effects of the excess leech juice Longbottom had added. Not impossible by any means, but should have been far beyond the ability's of a third-year.

"Longbottom, at the end of the lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly," he said coldly. Malicious, yes, but he knew the potion wouldn't actually _kill_ the toad. Besides, Longbottom was a hazard in the classroom and needed to learn.

The rest of the lesson passed without any further incident, though he kept an eye on Malfoy, who seemed to be saying something that aggravated Potter and Weasley. A few minutes before the bell he stalked over to Longbottom, who was cowering fearfully beside his cauldron.

"Everyone gather round and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad," he said, amused by the contrasting looks of fear and anticipation on the students faces. "If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned."

Turning to the cauldron, he was briefly surprised to see the potion was now green. There were only two people in the classroom who would have managed to correct the potion and one of them was himself. He glanced up at Hermione as he dipped a small spoon into the cauldron; there was an expression of determined innocence on her face.

A few moments after he had dripped the potion down the toads throat, he had a small tadpole wriggling in the palm of his hand. The Gryffindors burst into applause, and he heard Hermione sigh in relief.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," he said sourly, silencing the applause. He glared at Hermione with mingled feelings of irritation and highly-reluctant pride – it was devious of her, to go behind his back like that. Honestly, the girl would have made a fine Slytherin. "I told you _not_ to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed."

Every single student left the classroom grumbling, the Gryffindors over the 'unfair' point dismissal and the Slytherins over the lucky escape Longbottom's toad had. He waited until they had all left and then followed them out of the classroom, locking and warding the doors behind him.

Heading away from the babble of the students climbing the stairs to the Entrance Hall, he walked down the corridor towards his office – and then abruptly stopped as he saw something that was not only completely unexpected, but was also completely impossible.

Hermione Granger, fiddling with something around her neck before fading away without a trace.

* * *

Hermione dashed down a narrow, hardly used stone staircase after Ancient Runes had finished. She needed to get back to the dungeons quickly, since Harry and Ron would get suspicious if she simply vanished. Her use of the Time-Turner and running between classes had given her a rather detailed knowledge of the schools corridors and hundreds of staircases. This damp passage would lead her straight passed the little alcove near the Potions classroom she had used for travelling back in time, then she could catch up with the boys and get some lunch.

Darting around a corner, she stopped with a gasp as she saw a stupefied Professor Snape staring into the little alcove. He spun around as he heard her footsteps and she saw his jaw drop – a small part of her mind was amused since she had never seen him look so surprised, but a much larger part was worried about the trouble she might get into.

"How the _hell _did you do that?" he demanded, looking between the alcove and herself.

"Sir?" she said, still out of breath.

"You were _there_," he snapped, pointing at the alcove, "then you just _vanished_."

He approached her with slow, deliberate footsteps. She was unable to move, feeling like a doe caught in the headlights of a car. "And _then_," he continued, "you appear from the other end of the corridor." He loomed over her, his arms folded against his chest. "I want an explanation, _now_."

"I don't know what you're -"

"Do not take me for a fool, Miss Granger," he hissed.

"Sir, really, there's nothing -"

She flinched instinctively as his hand shot out, dipping briefly into the collar of her shirt - she felt his cool fingers brush her neck and he pulled out the Time-Turner.

"You were using this," he said in a soft, deadly voice. His black eyes were fixed on the little hourglass, the chain hooked over a single, pale finger. "Now tell me exactly what it is, otherwise we will go straight to Professor McGonagall."

Hermione bit her lip, unnerved by her Professor's proximity and the way that the chain he held was digging slightly into her throat. "Professor McGonagall was the one who gave it to me, sir."

He raised a single eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate.

"It's a Time-Turner, sir," she said. "I'm taking quite a few subjects this year, so I'm using it to get to my lessons. Essentially, it allows me to be in two places at once."

"A Time-Turner?" he repeated, looking at the hourglass with a new intensity, a hungry expression on his face. "How far can you go back?"

"Only a day at the most," she told him.

His face fell slightly, before becoming the cold mask she was used too. He released the chain, letting the Time-Turner fall back against her robes. "Go rejoin your friends, Miss Granger," he said, his voice emotionless.

She hesitated, and he frowned at her. "I suggest you hurry, they will be waiting for you," he said, jerking his chin towards the stairs, where she could hear the babble of her classmates ascending from their Potions lesson.

With a final glance at Professor Snape, she jogged down the corridor. Hurrying up the stairs, she tucked the Time-Turner back down the front of her robes with one hand, the other hand holding tightly onto her bulging bag.

She was out of breath by the time she reached Harry and Ron, who were looking at her in confusion. "How did you do that?" Ron asked as she drew level with them.

"What?"

"One minute you were right behind us, and next moment, you're at the bottom of the stairs again," Ron said.

"What?" Hermione repeated, faking confusion. Seeing that the boys probably wouldn't let this go, she invented an excuse on the spot. "Oh – I had to go back for something," she said, hefting her bag over one shoulder.

She heard the rip of fabric tearing. "Oh, no ..." she muttered, examining the burst seam on her bag. Bending down, she started taking out books to repair the bag and magically fix the seam.

"Why are you carrying all these around?" Ron asked, looking down at her bag with mild horror.

"You know how many subjects I'm taking," she said, still breathless from running up the stairs. "Couldn't hold these for me, could you?"

Ron shuffled the pile of books she had thrust into his hands, looking at the covers. "But you haven't got any of these subjects today. It's only Defence Against the Dark Arts this afternoon."

"Oh, yes," Hermione said vaguely, repacking her bag – the boys may only have Defence, but she had double Arithmancy that afternoon. On top of a morning of double Potions and Ancient Runes, with no break or chance to grab some food in-between the lessons. "I hope there's something good for lunch, I'm starving."

* * *

Snape stared after Hermione's retreating figure, watching as she tucked the Time-Turner back into her robes. She was in possession of one of the most powerful magical tools known to Wizarding kind, and she was using it to _get to her lessons_.

He believed her when she had said it would only take a person back one day, but the concept of time-travel itself was supposed to just be a theory. The Ministry must have been working on Time-Turners secretly for decades – and if they had the ability to create something to take a person back one day, then why not a week, or months ... or years, even?

The sheer potential for such a device was staggering; with the knowledge of the future, one could go back and change the past to suit their whims. He could change everything. He could save _her_.

But speculation was fruitless, of course.

He found himself outside the staffroom, not having noticed where his wandering feet were taking him. Several teachers were sitting on faded sofas, gossiping happily. They gave him a surprised look when he came in, but didn't try to approach him – he was not known for inhabiting the staffroom, preferring the privacy of his rooms, office and lab.

Wordlessly, he made his way to a darkened corner of the room, sinking into an armchair with his eyes fixed wearily on the wardrobe at the end of the room. The wardrobe rattled, as if sensing his gaze. There was a Boggart inside, and Lupin had requested that the staff leave it be so that he could give a practical lesson. He knew that the Boggart was the reason why his feet had unconsciously led him here during his speculations about changing the past.

He whiled away the lunch hour in brooding silence, an ignored cup of rapidly cooling Earl Grey tea perched precariously on the arm of the chair. Eventually, the bell rang and the teachers deserted the staffroom, leaving him on his own. He had a free period for the next hour, and so was in no hurry to leave.

Waiting until the door had snapped shut, he got cautiously to his feet and approached the wardrobe. He smoothed a hand over the wood, feeling the grain beneath his skin. He then allowed his fingers to encircle the handle, his other hand dipping into his pocket to loosely grasp his wand.

He remained frozen in that position, internally debating whether or not to open the door. He didn't need a Boggart to recognise his worst fear, having already lived through it; but perversely, his worst fear was his greatest desire – was he prepared to hear her voice accusing _murderer_ if it meant he would see her face once more, outside of the black and white photos that were packed away in a box at Spinners End?

But it wouldn't be her face – it would be an echo, a ghost ... the face of a corpse.

With a great effort, he wrenched his hand off the doorknob and sunk back into the low armchair, holding his head in his hands. He looked up as he heard a babble of voices outside the staffroom door which suddenly burst open as the Gryffindor third-years flooded in, followed by a vaguely smiling Lupin.

Realising that this was to be the practical lesson Lupin had told them about, Snape got to his feet. "Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this," he said bitingly, striding across the room. Acutely aware that if he had decided to open the wardrobe the class would have walked in on him, he was feeling particularly malicious as he reached the door. Turning on his heel, he addressed them once more, "Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear."

His gaze lingered on Hermione as he finished – it was her fault that he was feeling so maudlin today, obsessing over the past. Her and that damn Time-Turner.

"I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation," Lupin said mildly, having raised his eyebrows in faint surprise. "And I am sure he will perform it admirably."

Snape smirked as he closed the door with a snap, imagining Longbottom facing a Boggart. Whatever the boy's greatest fear was, it was sure to be amusing.

* * *

"Pepper Imps," Snape growled moodily to the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office. He stomped up the staircase and hammered twice on the door.

"Come in," Dumbledore said pleasantly, smiling when the door banged open and the young Professor stalked into his office like an angry black cloud. "Ah Severus, thank you for coming."

"I know what you are going to ask, Albus and the answer is _no_," Snape said without any preamble, standing in front of the desk with his arms folded and a scowl plastered firmly on his face.

"But I thought you wanted to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts," Dumbledore said mildly, peering up at the towering Professor through his half-moon spectacles.

"I wanted to have the post for myself, not cover lessons when Lupin is PMS-ing," he snarled.

"Really Severus, you know that Professor Lupin is not suffering from PMS," Dumbledore said severely, his eyes twinkling. "The politically correct term for his condition is -"

"I _know_ what the politically-correct term is," he snapped, rolling his eyes. "But my answer still stands – _no_. Isn't it enough that I have to brew that damned potion for him? Do you have any idea how complicated Wolfsbane is to brew?"

"Unfortunately you don't have any choice in the matter, my dear boy," Albus said. "School policy states that if a teacher has a valid reason for being unable to teach a lesson, then any other Professor who is free at the time must take the class." Dumbledore peered over the tops of his spectacles. "The only Professor's who have a free period Thursday afternoons are you and Professor Trelawney."

Snape's face twisted. "Trelawney could -"

"Don't be ridiculous, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted. "I suggest you start planning a lesson."

* * *

"Where's Harry?" Hermione whispered to Ron, having caught up with him in the queue of students outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom; she had spent her lunchtime in the library doing some work.

"Oliver Wood caught him again," Ron said, shrugging. Since it had been announced that Hufflepuff would be playing in the upcoming Quidditch match instead of Slytherin, the Gryffindor Captain had constantly been giving Harry tips and advice on how they would have to vary their tactics.

"Oliver should keep him so long," Hermione tsked disapprovingly, unable to comprehend the boy's obsession with Quidditch. "He's going to be late for the lesson."

At that moment, the classroom door opened to reveal Professor Snape – the class instantly silenced under his furious gaze.

"In," he said sternly, pointing at the classroom.

They trickled into the classroom, each of them surreptitiously trying to get the seats closest to the back as possible. Snape closed the door with an ominous snap and stalked to the front of the class, his black robes billowing behind him.

The class sat in fearful silence as he opened the register and took his time inking up the quill. Everyone wanted to know where Professor Lupin was, but it seemed that no one wanted to be the one to ask.

Snape took the register, pausing to smirk maliciously when he reached Harry's name and no one answered. He then closed the register and looked down his nose at all of them. "Since Professor Lupin has left no indication of the work -"

He was interrupted by the sudden sound of footsteps running up the corridor outside. The classroom door burst open and Harry practically fell inside, gasping for breath. "Sorry I'm late, Professor Lupin, I -"

Snape gave Harry a look of lazy contempt. "This lesson started ten minutes ago, Potter, so I think we will make it ten points from Gryffindor. Sit down."

"Where's Professor Lupin?" Harry asked, not moving – the entire class watched the confrontation, eager for an answer.

"He says he is feeling too ill to teach today," Snape said with silky menace, a twisted smile on his face. "I believe I told you to sit down?"

Harry stayed where he was, ignoring Hermione as she motioned for him to sit down – Snape seemed to be in a foul mood, so it wouldn't do for them to give him any more reasons to dock points from Gryffindor.

"What's wrong with him?" Harry asked, the tiniest hint of accusation in his voice; Hermione could guess what was running through his mind, since Harry had told them about the potion Professor Snape had brewed Lupin while they were in Hogsmeade.

"Nothing life-threatening," Snape said, looking as though he wished it was. "Five more points from Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you again, it will be fifty."

Harry wisely chose to sit down. Snape looked around the class.

"As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far -"

"Please sir," Hermione interrupted, half raising her hand. "We've done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas and Grindylows," she said quickly, trying to be helpful. "And we're just about to start -"

"Be quiet," Snape snapped coldly at her. "I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin's lack of organisation."

"He's the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had," Dean said boldly, to the general murmured agreement of the class.

"You are easily satisfied," Snape said coolly. "Lupin is hardly over-taxing you – I would expect first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows. Today we shall discuss -"

The class watched him flick to the very back of the textbook, which he must have known they hadn't covered.

"-werewolves," Snape finished, smirking.

"But sir," Hermione said, unable to restrain herself, "we're not due to start werewolves yet, we're due to start Hinkypunks -"

"Miss Granger, I was under the impression that I was taking this class, not you," Snape intoned slowly in a voice of deadly calm, piercing her with his black gaze. His eyes released her and he looked around the classroom. "And I am telling you all to turn to page three hundred and ninety-four." No one moved. "_All_ of you! _Now!_"

The class complied bitterly, several of them muttering sullenly.

"Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?" Snape asked of the class.

Hermione's hand instinctively shot into the air.

"Anyone?" Snape said with a smirk, ignoring her quivering hand. "Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between -"

"We told you," Parvati interrupted bravely, "we haven't got as far as werewolves yet, we're still on -"

"_Silence!_" Snape hissed venomously, making the class flinch back. "Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third year class who wouldn't even recognise a werewolf if they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are ..."

"Please sir," Hermione said, determined to show him that they weren't behind. "The werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf -"

"That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger," Snape said, his voice was cool, but his dark eyes were smouldering in anger as they held hers. "Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."

Hermione felt herself go red and she slowly lowered her hand, trying her best to fight the overwhelming urge to cry. Nearly everyone in the entire class had called her a know-it-all, but she had always taken it as a sort-of compliment. Somehow, it was a thousand times worse hearing it from Professor Snape's mouth.

A single tear escaped down her cheek – she thought she saw Snape's eyes flicker briefly, possibly with regret, when Ron burst out loudly from beside her, "You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you didn't want to be told?"

Whatever emotion had flashed in his eyes was once again concealed behind a cold mask as Professor Snape slowly advanced on their table. "Detention Weasley," he said silkily. "And if I ever hear you criticise the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed."

He glanced once more at Hermione, his expression inscrutable, before turning on his heel and walking back to the front of the class. He instructed them to take notes from the textbook. No one spoke again throughout the entire lesson, and Snape did not look at Hermione again.

* * *

Severus Snape was patrolling the school the evening after the fateful Quidditch game; the aftermath of games were often the rowdier nights of the school year, students creeping to other common-rooms to congratulate the winning House and join the victory party, or students sneaking away from common-room parties for a little privacy. He had already caught three couples in the corridors and had to escort an inebriated Professor Spout, Head of Hufflepuff House, back to her rooms since she had elatedly joined the students' celebrations.

He couldn't really blame her, since Hufflepuff House rarely had much cause for celebration – they hadn't won the Quidditch Cup in eleven years, or the House cup in thirteen. Nevertheless, he was thin-lipped in disapproval as the plump witch staggered along behind him, alternately going on about Hufflepuff glory or bewailing 'poor, young Harry' in the Hospital Wing after the fall he had taken from his broomstick.

Having left the Professor at the doors of her rooms, he continued his patrol of the school, knowing that sleep wouldn't come easy that night – Potter hadn't been the only one affected by the Dementors at the Quidditch match. The wave of despair they bought had been followed by the echoes of begging, pleading, _screaming_ in his head, the ghosts of his darker days. He knew there would be nightmares tonight.

It was nearly four in the morning and the school was quiet and empty. The Hufflepuff party had wound down and it seemed all the students had gone to bed. He paced the school, looking out of the windows as he passed them. The storm had cleared, leaving the skies dark, clear and full of stars. In the light of the moon that was just beginning to wane from full, he could see the remnants of several branches scattered across the grassy grounds from the forest, tossed there in the high winds.

As he glanced out of a window overlooking a small courtyard he noticed something odd – a wall of the library was directly opposite and the windows were all dark, except for one which held a faint glow, as if a candle was lit behind it.

Making his way around the courtyard to the library doors, he was surprised to find them locked, with no evidence of someone having forced them open. Tapping the door with his wand, he unlocked them and entered the library. He didn't light his wand, not wanting to alert whoever was out of bed to his presence. Remembering where he had seen the light, he made his way along the darkened shelves until he reached a small table covered in books and scrolls.

Hermione Granger was slumped over the table, fast asleep with her head resting in an open book. Her wand was lit and resting on the table, its soft illumination the source of the light he had seen in the window. He looked at the books surrounding her – all of them were texts on werewolves, along with a lunar chart. Next to her was a competed essay that he had set them (two rolls of parchment) on how to recognise werewolves.

He observed her as she slept. Her breathes were deep and even, her head pillowed by both the huge book and a small, ink-stained hand beneath her cheek. Her eyelids flickered a little as she dreamed, and he noticed heavy bags beneath them. She obviously wasn't getting enough sleep. Her bushy hair was half covering her face and he felt the strangest urge to push it back – it was an odd feeling, almost ... protective.

Realising he had been staring at her for well over a minute, he internally shook himself. "Miss Granger," he said, his voice coming out quieter than he had intended, hardly above a whisper.

She shifted slightly in her sleep, but didn't wake.

"Miss Granger," he repeated, louder this time. He reached forward and grasped her shoulder, shaking her lightly to wake her.

She blinked her eyes open, peering sleepily at him for a moment. She then jerked upright, obviously realising where she was.

"What time is it?" she asked meekly, rubbing sleep from her eyes. There was a long crease down one cheek from where she had been resting against the book.

"Long past curfew, Miss Granger," he said, folding his arms sternly.

She gave a resigned sigh, "How many points is it to be tonight, Professor?"

He eyed the chair opposite her speculatively, and then sat down – he didn't deduct points, he didn't order her back to the Gryffindor Tower. Instead he joined her at the table. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because she sounded so weary, not at all like she did when spouting facts in class. Maybe it was the black smudges under her eyes that told how tired she was. Maybe it was him who was too tired.

"You came here after the match," he said; it wasn't a question.

"I had work to do," she said reluctantly, not looking at him – she obviously didn't like that he had joined her. Her shoulders were hunched defensively and her fingers fiddled with the edge of the essay. He took a peek into her mind and was surprised to see that her dominant emotions – sadness, anger, confusion – were all linked to him.

_Insufferable_, her mind whispered.

He remembered how he had snapped at her in class. She was angry for allowing herself to be hurt by his comment, and now she was confused as to why he was talking to her and not simply giving her a detention or deducting points.

He tapped a finger sharply on the table to get her full attention. "How many hours do you put in a day, Miss Granger?" he asked.

"Sir?"

"Your Time-Turner," he elaborated. "With the extra time you add for classes, how many hours do you do a day?"

She thought for a moment. "Twenty or so, sometimes twenty-one or twenty-two depending on what classes I have."

"And how many hours sleep do you get?" he said, narrowing his eyes at her.

She didn't reply.

"Obviously not enough," he supplied for her, nodding to himself. "You're going to work yourself to exhaustion, Miss Granger and it's not healthy or productive to your studies."

She still didn't respond, avoiding his eyes once more. He thought he saw the faintest hint of a scowl on her face,

"Why do you work so much?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"I hardly think my motives are your concern, Professor," she muttered mutinously at the table.

"Don't be insolent, girl," he reprimanded sharply. "I asked you a question."

"Can I ask _you_ a question, _sir_?" she said with rather sudden venom, her chin jerking up – her emotions were rolling off her with such force that even an amateur Legimens could have detected them – frustration, hurt, bewilderment – all suddenly bubbling to the surface as if something had snapped.

"Why ... why do you hate me?" she continued, her voice had losing its brief animosity. She now sounded tired and overwrought and very, very young.

"Pardon?" he said, more surprised by her outburst than the question.

She hesitated, and then ploughed on with her question. "I said why do you hate me? I can understand that you didn't want me to be your friend when I was in my first year, but why do you hate me as a student?"

"I don't ... hate you, Miss Granger," he said slowly, the words drawn reluctantly from his mouth.

"You called me know-it-all," she persisted, her eyes sad.

"You _are_ a know-it-all," he retorted. "Take it as a compliment."

She lowered her eyes to the table once more and said in a voice so quiet that he almost missed it, "You said I was ... insufferable."

"I ... regret that."

"Excuse me?" she said, startled into looking up once more.

He took a deep breath, formulating his answer. "I was having a very ... trying day," he said, remembering how frustrated he had been at having to cover Lupin's lesson at the last minute. "Admittedly you were testing my patience with your incessant interrupting, yet perhaps I should not have been so ... short with you."

"You're ... apologising?" she said wonderingly – Snape pulled a face, feeling like he had just swallowed something very sour. That hadn't been an apology – had it?

Hermione shook her head in bemusement. "You confuse me sometimes, Professor. When we first met and you came to my house, you frightened away my bullies and you answered my questions. You were telling me all about magic, and I remember thinking that you were ... well, amazing."

He stared at her, unable to believe she was telling him all this. No student had ever spoken to him like this. Ever. Not in nearly twenty years of teaching.

"And then," she continued, "when you're in the classroom, you're ... well ... I just can't help but wonder ..."

"What, Miss Granger?" he said intently

"Which is the real you?" she asked, ingenuous and curious, looking at him as if he was a puzzle she could solve.

_Both, or maybe neither_ – his mind said. He didn't like this; the closest he came to talking about himself with anyone was Albus and Minerva. Albus knew his worries of old and so didn't need to ask about them, while Minerva never pried deeper than he was willing to tell.

And now Hermione had guilelessly drawn him into a conversation, simply by being frank about her own opinions.

He didn't like this one bit.

"I see you've done the essay," he said in a rather obvious deflection of the conversation, picking up and unrolling the two pieces of parchment next to her.

"Oh, yes," she said, glancing down at the books all around her as if she had only just remembered they were there.

She was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as he read through her work – detailed, precise and accurate as ever. "I think I know why you set it," she said abruptly while he was midway through reading.

He tensed.

"Do you now?" he replied airily, flipping the parchment to read the other side.

"And ... I don't care," she said firmly.

That made him look up from the essay.

"I've been reading up on werewolves, they have _always_ been penalised." She leant across the table, her eyes wide and beseeching. "You shouldn't hate him for something he can't control, sir."

"I don't hate him for being what he is, Miss Granger," he said bluntly, thrusting the essay back to her unfinished. "I hate him for another reason entirely."

"Why then?" she asked – innocent and curious, not trying to be nosy at all. She didn't realise this was dangerous territory, asking questions about his past – questions he wouldn't answer.

"You should get to bed, Miss Granger," he said barbarously. "Come, I will escort you to the Tower." She blinked in surprise at his sudden brusque tone, but started to gather her books nevertheless.

She followed him silently through the darkened school, neither of them attempting to reinstate their conversation. Most of the portraits they passed were sleeping, though several of them observed the silent pair interestedly. They reached the Fat Lady, who was dozing in her frame, and Hermione turned to him, her books clutched to her chest. "Goodnight, Professor."

He gave her an acknowledging nod and continued down the corridor; he heard her give the password and the Fat Lady berating her for waking her up. As he walked away he realised that he hadn't docked any points at all, despite her being out after curfew. Any other student would have found themselves in detention, even a Slytherin. In the wake of their conversation he had forgotten about her breach of the school rules. Maybe he was losing his touch, he thought. Or maybe he had felt that she didn't deserve the punishment.

He sighed under his breath, deciding to put it down to a combination the Dementor's effect on him earlier and not getting enough sleep the past few nights. He headed towards his quarters, wondering if now he would be tired enough to sleep – and maybe, if he was lucky, too tired for nightmares. Tomorrow was a Sunday, he would be able to sleep in if he wished, and possibly get some brewing done away from the chatter of the dunderheaded students.

As he walked past the windows of the school he didn't notice that the sky had lightened from inky black to deep blue in the east, heralding the signs of the oncoming dawn.

* * *

**Well that seemed like a good place to stop – especially considering it's not even Christmas yet in Hogwarts! **

**So you have all the friendships falling apart and the drama at the end of the book in part 2 to look forward to in my next update ... stay tuned :)**

**I also wish to point out that while this **_**may **_**turn into a romance later on (i.e when Hermione is no longer a student) it is most emphatically NOT a romance at the moment. This is a friendship fic – when he is looking at her in the library it is because he is curious about her, not because there is any attraction on either side.**

**Question time ... aside from HG/SS who is your favourite non-canon couple and why?**

**Personally, I kinda like the idea of Ron and Luna ... they would be cool, and they have that cute moment in book 6 where he picks up stuff for her ... **

**Anyways, Review my Pretties! =D**


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